Wolf Whistles
by WellspringCD
Summary: The story of the Brecilian Forest werewolves after the Warden turns their world upside down. The loss of the old, the embrace of the new. M for violence and adult situations. On indefinite hiatus.
1. Sundancer

_A/N: Wolf Whistles began as a very simple question, asked after the Warden cures the werewolves: "Now what?" Soon the wolves were off and running, and growling at me in the night, demanding to be written down._

_This chapter corresponds to chapter 33 in my full-length Dragon Age fanfic, "The Great Escape." They go well together, and if you like this then I think you would enjoy at least reading chapters 33-35, but it isn't necessary; this story can be read independently._

_WARNING: This story is on indefinite hiatus as of August 16, 2012, for health reasons. New readers might not want to bother starting a story that won't be finished for a long time. I'm so, so sorry. :(_

* * *

In the small hours, when the new moon's silver circlet rose high above the treeline, Sundancer's eyes gleamed yellow in the night.

She had to get away. The room she shared with her mate, heaped with soft leaves, feathers, and shed fur, lay in the very heart of the ruined palace her pack used as a den, and escaping it without arousing pursuit would not be easy. She panted in distress, shifting in her nest with a soft whine as she squirmed, trying to settle her swollen belly more comfortably. One of the puppies kicked, and she was on her feet in an instant.

This could not wait. She had to get away, _now_.

Her mate, Swiftrunner, had taken most of the pack to confront the elves, but Gatekeeper had stayed behind along with the few other females and young, to keep them safe. To keep _her_ safe.

It was not enough.

She lurked inside her room, watching for Gatekeeper. He had a set patrol route, a routine he took comfort in and used to help the younger werewolves who had trouble finding balance. Her tail lashed once, and then she forced herself to absolute stillness.

The grizzled werewolf made his steady way past her door, stopping to sniff the air and frown at the scent of distress and fear in the air. He opened his mouth, about to ask Sundancer if all was well, but must have decided not to risk waking her and continued his patrol, huffing softly to himself.

She waited, trembling with urgency, until she thought he must have passed the exit, and her way was clear. Then she bolted, and her wolf took over.

* * *

Something about the chirping of the dawn-birds distracted her wolf long enough that her mind rose again to the surface. She was running, tongue lolling out as she panted, back aching with the extra weight of her pregnancy. She still felt the urgent, burning need to flee, to hide, to get away from her pack. She clung to her self-control with every ounce of will, guiding her desperate flight, doubling back, following streams, scrabbling across fallen trees and slogging through wetlands, every trick she and her wolf could dream up to hide their trail.

Miles away, she heard Gatekeeper's deep-toned howl, and redoubled her efforts. She stumbled, awkward in her tiredness, and struck her nose hard on a tree. Her wolf shoved her aside.

* * *

Sundancer gradually came to herself with her head down in a sizeable hole. She was digging, a dogged scrape-scrape-scrape with her bare clawed hands, stopping only to bite through the roots that got in her way. Fully conscious once more, she stopped and backed out of the hole to look around.

Blackberry brambles rose above her head on all sides, save the narrow game trail by which she must have entered. The death of a tree had left this small clearing here, and her wolf must have chosen it as the safest place available. Vaguely, she worried about the chunks of lost time when her wolf had fought her for control; she hadn't had trouble like that since she was a pup. Then she surveyed the den, and it felt right. Yes. She should finish digging.

She dug until her fingers bled, and then curled up in the cool, damp earth to sleep.

* * *

"Dearest, beloved Sundancer," a soft voice like the sighing of wind whispered into her matted ear. "You hid so well, I had to ask the trees to find you."

Sundancer blinked dully, and focused on the achingly lovely women kneeling beside her. Her heart swelled with love and joy, and she heaved herself over with a grunt, flopping down again with her head on the woman's lap and thumping the ground with her tail in greeting.

"No words for me, my dear?" the Lady of the Forest said softly. "Then it must be nearly time. Drink."

Water welled up suddenly, a thin stream spurting from from the wall of her shallow hole, and Sundancer opened her muzzle to let the water trickle into her mouth, lapping slowly. Then the contractions began, and her mind swirled, becoming muddy with pain and instinct and the wolf.

For hours.

Sometimes she stood up and paced in circles in her little den; sometimes she felt a sudden urge to dig, or just to push the dirt around in the floor of the hole. Her breasts ached, ready for children that did not come, and in the end, she lay down on her side and shivered, and waited, and waited some more.

Her Lady said something to her, stroking her face, and tried to drip more water into her mouth. She whimpered. Then her Lady said something else and she went away.

Sundancer cried a little, afraid and alone, before fresh pain rolled through her body and she swallowed her screams before they betrayed her hiding place. Near despair, she let go and sank into her wolf, welcoming the animal's dumb absolution.


	2. Gatekeeper

Gatekeeper looped through the forest around the den, laying out his hunting grid as he searched for her scent. He'd found a possible trail, and was now determining its direction and authenticity. He kept up a running monologue for his wolf, repeating the need for care, explaining why they could not simply rush off after Sundancer in a blind panic. It submitted, if a bit sullenly, lending what aid it could in the form of instinct and drive.

That Sundancer had fled alone was his fault. The Lady had warned him that she might try, that a new mother's wolf might seize control and force her to flee, and with good reason, in his opinion. As the oldest werewolf in the pack, the young ones seemed like ravening animals, though he well remembered when his own blood had boiled and his wolf had fought him for control.

Perhaps, if he had talked to her about what had happened to his own mate... perhaps she would have trusted him, would have understood why he would never suffer harm to come to her. He had thought – hoped – that he had earned enough trust from her, but... He, of all people, should know that trust was not always allocated where it ought to be, and, moreover, that each of them battled the instincts of their wolves. Not as natural wolves, fully-realized beings capable of love and play, but as elementals with only the basest desires, untrusting and untrustworthy...

"_We should flee," she whispered in the silence of their private den._

"_We shall fight," he growled back, long ago, when he had been Ironbone. "You are mine and he shall not have you."_

"_Whatever we do, we have little time," she said after a moment's hesitation. "We have perhaps three weeks before the pregnancy will be too obvious to hide."_

_So he had bowed and scraped, swallowed his pride and groveled before his Alpha, the baleful Red Fang, whose position gave him the rights to all the breeding females. While Red Fang kept the pack mother as his own, Ironbone had been allowed to choose one of the older females as a reward for good service on a raid against a human farm. Years later, his beloved had unexpectedly begun to bloom, and he listened with sinking heart as she sobbed against his chest and begged them to flee before the Alpha took her for his own._

_Red Fang was not loved, merely obeyed, ruling by tooth and claw and his ring of bullies whose wolves liked killing a little too much. They followed him everywhere, laughing and growling, an impenetrable defense against assassination by one of the dominant males who hoped to overthrow him and become Alpha in turn. As Ironbone now intended. _

_One day a difficult hunt had gone poorly, and Red Fang had quarreled with his Striker, blaming him for letting the moose escape and eventually ordering them all to get out of his face – though not before shredding a few ears and leaving one of them lame. They scrambled away, yipping in pain, and Ironbone leaped out of cover at his unprotected back._

_Red Fang twisted away from his claws and caught him as he flew past, slamming him into the ground and roaring for his men to come back and help. Later, the Alpha took great pleasure in informing Ironbone that he had heard his inept stalking, that he knew about his mate, that he had smelled her pregnancy._

_And what he planned to do to her that night._

He shook himself vigorously, flinging a dead leaf from his coat as though he could shed the memories as easily. His wolf howled inside his head, and he dug his claws into the earth, leaving furrows with every bound as he broke into a run, Sundancer's scent bright before him as though her trail were blazed with fire.

It led into a marsh.

He stood ankle-deep in the rank mud, bubbles of noxious marsh gas rising to the surface and bursting with a truly foul odor, a physical blow to his sensitive nose. He cast back and forth for a minute, sneezing, before turning and bolting away before the stench killed his nose entirely. He began a slow circuit of the marsh's edge, looking for her point of exit, expecting her trail to stink of the marsh now.

He came back upon his own trail without finding any marshy pawprints. He stared at his own prints for a long moment before eventually looking above his head at the ancient fallen poplar that lay like a catwalk, bridging the marsh. Scrabbling claw marks showed where she had hauled herself up to the trunk. He smiled, and followed.

He'd walked about halfway across when he heard the distant chattering of a group of young werewolves, and with a sudden chill, he realized Swiftrunner was on his way home. All his limbs grew heavy with dread as he painstakingly turned around on the narrow log and began to make his way back, to tell Swiftrunner, his Alpha, to whom he owed everything, that he had failed to protect the pack's mother.

Again.


	3. Swiftrunner

Swiftrunner loped effortlessly through his forest, muscles bunching and stretching beneath his rich fur in satisfying rhythm. His men ranged out behind him, his Striker at his flank and the others strung along according to their own order.

Their assault on the elf pack had gone as well as could be hoped. Bringing all the dominant males except his Gatekeeper had been a gamble, but he had needed them all to keep the young werewolves from sinking into frenzy and slaughtering the elves. Dead elves would help no one, and their goal was instead to injure and infect. His conscience pained him when he thought of how the cowardly villain Zathrian had demanded his women fight alongside their men, some of them young, barely out of childhood; he himself had forcibly thrown one of his wolves off of a downed elf female, sickened when he caught the scent of milk and infant on her.

Hiding behind mothers with babes. The man deserved to die for that alone.

His skin twitched as though flicking off a biting fly, the only outward indication of his inner turmoil at the thought of his Sundancer, perhaps forced to defend herself in his absence, and he cursed the unhappy fate that had brought Zathrian here just before she was due to be delivered of her first children. Visions of her golden muzzle coated in gore had haunted him the entire journey.

They swarmed down into the pack's home valley and he lengthened his stride, outstripping the others in his urgency to reach the den. Firetooth's labored breathing came from just behind him as the fierce wolf fought to keep up with his alpha, and he allowed himself a moment of amusement at the predictably competitive reaction, before they flashed through the courtyard of their den and down the stairs towards the inner sanctum.

He found the pack's females and young clustered in a frightened heap around the sacred pool, gazing at him with white-rimmed eyes, and skidded to a halt.

"What?" he challenged, raising his tail like a banner.

The females all looked at one another, none willing to speak.

"Where is Gatekeeper?" he asked instead, forcing himself to stay calm; frightening them further wouldn't help.

"Hunting," yipped one of the youngest males, promptly hushed by the others.

"Alpha, I'm here." Gatekeeper's deep rumble came from behind him on the stairs and he whirled to address the trusted werewolf who was _supposed_ to have been on guard.

"How is it I came in unchallenged? Where is my mate?" he demanded.

Gatekeeper, to his credit, did not cower. Behind him, the rest of the pack filtered in silently. Firetooth growled softly at the insolence, but Gatekeeper had earned the right to look him in the eye. "She fled. I am sorry, Alpha. I failed you." Only now did he bow his head, exposing his throat for the justice he felt he deserved.

Swiftrunner threw back his head and roared. The bellow echoed through the ruined palace and startled several bats into confused flight, and the whole pack fell on all fours, lowering their heads to the floor. His furious wolf demanded blood, and pain, and suffering, but most of all it demanded Sundancer, and he beat it into submission again with the argument that they needed _every_ werewolf alive to hunt her down.

"Get up and _find_ her!" he snarled, showing his fangs, and instantly every male in the den stood, flicked their ears respectfully and galloped out. He could hear Gatekeeper bullying Firetooth and the other more mature males into leading hunting pairs and trios, instead of moving in large packs as usual. They had too much ground to cover, and their prey was no dumb beast – but most importantly, they could not risk one of the uncontrollably violent adolescents finding her first. He couldn't help but remember what had happened to the pack's last mother.

"_Has anyone told you what he did to-"_

"_Red Fang enjoyed telling me very much."_

_Swiftrunner stood outside the barred room used as a prison, gazing contemplatively at the beaten werewolf inside. Ironbone had made a mistake, and paid for it with his mate's life. He should be dead himself; Red Fang had certainly intended him to die, but instead the male was living up to his name by stubbornly refusing to give in to mere mortality, and the Alpha had since imprisoned him, deciding that was more amusing than simply killing him._

_He could become an excellent ally._

"_Red Fang is out of control," Swiftrunner said. "That he would kill a breeding female-"_

"_**What?**" Ironbone shot to his feet and slammed against the prison door, his gashed muzzle suddenly inches from Swiftrunner's, his eyes mad with shock and rage. _

"_I'm so sorry," the younger male said softly, standing still and focusing his gaze on the other werewolf's nose instead of meeting his eyes, not wishing to provoke him further. He had suffered enough already, and the blows just kept coming. "Your mate... When she refused him, he beat her into submission. I think he told you that? But she lost the pups the next day, and he killed her for the failure."_

_Ironbone sank to the cold stone floor as though dead himself. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the bars. Swiftrunner thought he had blacked out, until he saw the steady stream of blood running from his hands, fists clenched so tightly his claws pierced his own flesh._

"_What would you do to avenge her?" Swiftrunner asked quietly._

"_Anything." Ironbone opened his eyes and the wolf gazed through them. "Anything."_

"_Then you will be my Gatekeeper," he told the older male, "and, together, we will save this pack."_

Shivering, Swiftrunner padded into the room he shared with Sundancer, nosing around in the bedding and breathing deep lungfuls of her precious scent, soothing his wolf. Should he have stayed? Waited and hoped that Zathrian's clan would return in his lifetime? Had fate demanded he buy his pack's freedom with his mate's life? Could he bear to pay that price?

His lovely, brilliant Sundancer. They would never find her.


	4. Firetooth

Firetooth was angry.

He was angry for many reasons. His alpha's mate had run away, bringing his unborn children with her, and now his Alpha was distraught over the selfish bitch. Firetooth had been sent to hunt her down, and given only two adolescent males, too young and stupid even to have names yet, to help him do it. His own mate, Nightsong, had gone off to hunt for the bitch herself, instead of staying by his side or in the den where she belonged. He was tired, and hungry, and frustrated after hours of hunting, and angry for all of those reasons.

But mostly, he was angry because he was a werewolf.

Pure rage, strong even for a werewolf and as much a part of him as his tail, seethed constantly in the depths of his soul, held back only by constant and vigilant effort. The other werewolves could see the banked fury in his eyes and respected him because he controlled it, even as they feared the day when he could not.

"Smell," barked one of the youths under his command. Firetooth privately thought of him as Drooly, because of his habit of panting open-mouthed when excited. The other, whom Firetooth liked to think of as Fuzzhead as much for his stupidity as for his thick ruff, came over to sniff and growled excitedly.

"Bear," he said happily, wagging.

"Let's kill it," Drooly said with a wicked grin.

"I'm hungry," Fuzzhead added, as though this were a convincing argument.

The three of them together should be able to kill a bear, but Firetooth had his orders, and those orders did not include leading inexperienced youngsters with poor control over their wolves into combat with the forest's second most dangerous animal. Firetooth shook his head and flattened his ears in refusal.

"I'm hungry," Drooly repeated Fuzzhead's argument, living up to his name as he snuffled the trail again.

"You're always hungry," Firetooth snapped. "We will return to the den if you are such children that you cannot control yourself."

He gritted his teeth in frustration, hanging onto his own control by the tail, his general unhappiness with the situation bleeding through and making him weak. Predictably, the younger werewolves bristled at the insult and began to trot along the trail in open defiance. He chased after them, knowing he would only make himself look weaker by trying to call them back now.

"If we must persist in this foolishness, then at least let us hunt properly," he growled quietly when he caught up to them. "Let me strike and you flank -"

"You always strike," Drooly growled back sullenly.

"Because I am Striker," he snarled, raising his tail over his back in anger. "A position I _earned_."

"Bear! Bear!" Fuzzhead cried in a frenzy of eagerness, and lunged forward at a dark shape in the brush. The other werewolves followed, Drooly howling with hunting fever and Firetooth frantic to reach the bear before it killed the clumsy puppies. They burst into the small clearing and found -

A cub.

Fuzzhead struck the cub at full speed, fangs and claws sinking through the soft fur and baby flesh. It squeaked once before it died, its fragile spirit parting easily from the body it had known for only a few months. Drooly tore into the corpse and the two began ripping it apart, devouring the meat in huge gulps, fully occupied with their feeding and dead to the world.

Firetooth reared up on his hind legs, bitter disgust filling his mouth as he searched the forest for the cub's mother. Perhaps the idiots would finish eating her cub before she came back, and they could leave this shame and get back to their work.

An ear-shattering bellow came from behind him and he spun about to see a massive brown bear rocket out of the concealed entrance of her cave, too close, the young werewolves between him and her. He roared back and leaped, colliding with her vast bulk just before she reached the young males, who were only now beginning to look up from their meal and blink stupidly at the threat.

He sank four fangs and twenty claws into her flesh and didn't slow her down at all. With an irritated twitch, she flicked him aside, chunks of her fur tearing away as Firetooth was flung across the clearing. He twisted in midair and landed on all four feet, springing instantly back into battle, even as she struck Fuzzhead with one massive paw, breaking his back with a loud _crunch_. The stricken werewolf collapsed, gasping weakly.

Firetooth landed on her back, tearing frantically at her shoulders and biting great chunks from her neck in an attempt to reach an artery. She screeched in pain and tried to twist her head back to bite at him, sitting on her haunches and scratching at her attacker with her hind paws. Drooly scrambled away, and disappeared.

The bear shook herself mightily and finally tossed Firetooth from her back. He landed badly, his odd werewolf hind legs failing to support him, and he tumbled across the clearing, fighting to turn the tumble into a controlled roll and get back up. The bear stood, bleeding from a dozen wounds, and Drooly reappeared behind her, neatly slicing one hamstring. She bellowed again and staggered, falling to one hip as she struggled with her now-useless leg in confusion and pain.

Drooly howled in triumph and Firetooth suppressed a flash of pride at the effective attack – bear hamstrings weren't where a wolf would expect them to be – and the two gathered themselves to sieze their advantage, when something terrible happened.

Agonizing, unbearable pain shot through his body, forcing him to the ground. Drooly rolled into a tight ball, wailing and lashing his tail. To Firetooth's absolute horror, his skin split apart over his muzzle and peeled back, leaving red-raw flesh behind as all his thick hide fell away like the husk of an insect. The flesh turned soft and pink, hairless, and then his bones began to shift.

His face changed first. Grinding and snapping, his muzzle forced itself back into his head and flattened, his ears becoming round pink shells and his fangs shrinking into uselessness. In front of him, the bear heaved herself onto three legs and shuffled towards the writhing young male, opening her mouth for a killing blow.

Desperately, Firetooth surged to his hind legs and staggered after her, lashing out with his claws, dimly aware that he had perhaps a handful of seconds before they, too, would be gone and he would be helpless. He seized her head, opening gashes along her face and ruining one eye, and she swiped sideways at him with a scream of pain, bowling him across the clearing yet again. Weak, shifting bones shattered under the blow and he struggled to stay conscious.

But the she-bear was roaring and pawing at her face, staggering about the clearing in agony, and Firetooth felt his claws slurp back into his fingers and toes and let himself collapse limply to the ground in surrender. Either the bear would kill him or she wouldn't. He wasn't sure which he preferred. Drooly's cries of pain changed from a wolfish howl to a human's scream, with a sharp arpeggio when the wounded bear stepped on his arm, and Firetooth chuckled in morbid amusement.

Zathrian was dead.

* * *

_Thank you to mille libri and Enaid Aderyn for being early adopters :D_

_This chapter corresponds to chapter 35 in The Great Escape, but that isn't required reading. I hope you're enjoying this so far!_


	5. Nightsong

Nightsong trotted slowly, nose to the ground. Many miles of devoted searching lay behind her, and many more likely lay ahead – but not quite _as_ many. The trail had straightened out, fewer clever tricks being thrown in her way, and she suspected her mistress's flight had become more focused as her labor grew immanent.

Every doubling-back of the trail, every careful pass over foul or distracting smells, every time her mistress had traveled along waterways had added hours to the search. Given enough time, Nightsong knew the males would find her. If Gatekeeper or Swiftrunner found her first, she might be safe. If her own mate Firetooth was first on the scene... He cared for Sundancer's life very little, but her value to the pack as sole breeding female would, hopefully, inspire him to protect her.

The young wolves who would come with them were the ones she worried about.

She whined softly to herself, taking a short break to flex her sore paws. Werewolf bodies weren't like real wolves, able to run and run for days on end; the long fingers and toes couldn't take the pounding. She wondered about the shoes humans wore, whether her mate and Swiftrunner would succeed and make them all human. The crumbling frescoes on the walls of their palace den showed women in all sorts of shoes, brightly-colored slippers or strange contraptions with graceful tall heels. She licked her raw pads until they felt cooler, and pressed on.

The trail sloped slightly uphill and was muddied briefly by passing over a fox's den. As the vixen glared out at her, Nightsong snuffled back and forth on the far side until she'd separated out the mistress's scent from the vixen's, losing precious minutes.

She should have tried to insist on sleeping beside Sundancer. She should have argued with Gatekeeper that she should not be left alone, and damn the consequences. Then she would have been with her when she fled, and Sundancer would not now be alone. She tried to ignore the hurt she felt, that her mistress had not trusted her enough to ask her for help.

She had chased after her the moment she heard Gatekeeper leave the den, ignoring his curt order for all the females to stay inside while he was gone. There would be hell to pay when she came back, especially if – when – Firetooth found out. She shivered a little, ears flattening involuntarily, at the thought of how angry he would be when he came home and she wasn't there, waiting for him.

Well, he had been angry with her before, many times. He was always angry about something, the smoldering rage lighting up his eyes and making his whole body radiate power and sex. She would cower and roll over and show him her belly, not-incidentally showing off her sleek figure and luxurious black coat, and one thing would lead to another and soon he would be too distracted to care about her transgression. She slithered under a fallen tree, hot on the trail again.

Perhaps a mile away, she suddenly heard three voices howl in mourning and stiffened in shock. Gatekeeper, Swiftrunner, Sundancer. How had the males beaten her there? Why were they mourning? Sundancer sounded fine -

Had the pups been lost?

She leaped towards her packmates, stretching her aching body into a run, when a wave of power shot through the forest and bowled her over. Her skin split and the glistening black fur peeled away; she tumbled head-over-heels and smashed into a tree as her bones rearranged themselves. She whimpered in agony as her body changed, and after what felt like years but was probably only a few minutes, she lay naked and human on the damp forest floor, blinking up at the trees that had never before seemed so lovely or so green.

Swiftrunner had succeeded! They were cured!

She held a hand up before her face, marveling at the long and delicate fingers, the short, rounded nails, the pale pink skin, visible to her with incredible clarity. She sat up slowly, awkward in her new body, and looked around with wonder at the beauty of the whole forest, the bright colors, the way her new eyes focused so easily and naturally on anything she wished to see.

She scrambled to her feet, eager to join her pack in jubilation, and bent to the ground to follow the trail again. And smelled nothing at all except dirt and leaves.

Oh, _no_.

She stood up again and looked around desperately. She had no idea how to find the den again without a scent trail; she'd never ventured so far from it before. She tried to remember where the howl had come from. Somewhere in front of her? But the pain and fear that had come so soon after had blurred the memory and she wasn't sure.

She tested her new voice, trying to howl, and started in surprise at the thin sound. It would never do, she could not possibly make them hear her and even if she did, they wouldn't know who she was or even – she froze in sudden dread – that she was pack, and not a trespasser to be killed on sight.

She trembled in silence and indecision for a long moment. Finally, realizing the desperation of her situation, she began picking her way through the thorny underbrush towards where she hoped the howl had come from, wishing harder than ever for shoes.


	6. The Change

Gatekeeper watched his Alpha attending Sundancer, the big werewolf searching her wounds while uttering soft growls that rumbled deep in his chest. She licked her mate's face, reassuring him that she was all right. Nobody was reassuring Gatekeeper, though. He shivered, nervous tremors rolling through his body as he kept an iron grip on his control, barely preventing himself from dissolving into a shuddering, sobbing heap – or, alternatively, ripping Zathrian limb from limb.

Swiftrunner had given him a garbled account of Sundancer's status as he led Gatekeeper to her den, explaining that the Lady of the Forest had intervened and brought strangers to help her with the birth; Gatekeeper had heard very little after the words "Sundancer and the pups are well and safe," so had to suppress his shock when they arrived and he was introduced to three humans, a dwarf and _two elves_.

Then he had picked out Sundancer, beating her fluffy tail against the ground in welcome. He crossed reverently to the plain den she had dug and gazed at the three pups. She sat up a little straighter, full proud of her accomplishment, as she should be. One of the babies mewed at her breast; instantly, nothing else mattered.

Then Zathrian had come.

When the sylvans had captured them all and Sundancer's cries had rung through the forest, Gatekeeper had nearly torn his own throat out in useless thrashing, fighting desperately to be free, to go to her, gripped with a terror so complete that he and his wolf roared in one voice, one impotent protest against it all happening _again_ -

And then the unthinkable had happened. The strangers had saved them, defied Zathrian, the human male displaying a violence worthy of Firetooth in throwing the defeated mage to the ground and now, now... Now Gatekeeper had nobody to fight, his wolf had no one to kill. He tore his gaze from the nest and forced himself to focus on their enemy.

"I cannot do it," Zathrian said at last from his place on the ground. He sounded beaten. "I am too old to forgive. All I can feel is hatred and pain."

"Keeper," the young elf, Cammen, appealed to him. "Please. We love you. Don't you love us? I will tell the others you sacrificed yourself to save us, and they will sing of your memory for ages to come."

"He should be reviled and his name struck from history," Gatekeeper snapped.

"If we have no forgiveness in our hearts, how can we expect any from him?" the Lady asked sharply, and he bowed his head, ashamed that his outburst might risk their chances of success

"You will die the moment I do, you know that," Zathrian told his Lady.

"You are my maker, Zathrian," she replied softly. "You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker, put an end to me. We beg you, have mercy."

"I... will," the Keeper said finally, painfully. "Cammen... I hope you can forgive an old man his weakness."

"Of course, Keeper." The young hunter helped Zathrian to his feet, weeping openly.

Zathrian stood and swayed for a moment before Cammen handed him his staff. He began chanting in ancient Elvish, weaving light and shadow together with his hands, and as he did so, the vines and branches that formed the Lady of the Forest burst into bloom. She gazed at her flowering hands in wonder.

Whining, Gatekeeper hovered over her, knowing he could not interfere though he would give almost anything to kill Zathrian _right now_ and spare her. Beside him, Swiftrunner and Sundancer gathered around, holding the pups out to her that they might feel her presence one last time before... With a flash of sunlight and a horrible, sickening wrench at his soul, she vanished.

Gatekeeper's wolf howled in grief, its cry echoed in his own throat and those of his packmates. For a dizzy moment the wolf was free, a ravening animal loose and unstoppable within his mind, and then it was gone, leaving only an aching, lonely silence. Then the Change began.

Pain unlike anything he had experienced, pain like Red Fang had only aspired to inflict, and a nauseating sensation of wrongness as the body to which he was so used became irretrievably altered. Then it was all over and the six of them sat naked and human on the ground.

"Well," Gatekeeper broke the silence, standing up with a comfort he did not feel and speaking with a cavalier attitude that hopefully hid how deeply shaken he was. "This has been a busy day."

"What will you do now?" The tiny, female dwarf addressed him, but Swiftrunner answered before he could think of a response.

"We will leave the forest and look for other humans," he said, voicing the plan they had dreamed of for so long. He helped Sundancer to her feet, and the dwarf – Latitia, he should get used to using her name, strange as it was – brought her a piece of clothing.

* * *

Sundancer held still and allowed her mate to pull the tunic over her head, mimicking the way Latitia wore hers. She had to juggle the babies awkwardly; somehow they had become several pounds larger in the transformation and she had no idea how she would carry all three. One of the boys fussed, and her mate gathered him up to comfort him; she smiled at them, suddenly warm down to her toes. Then she gasped and looked more closely at the baby boy.

"Look," she breathed. "Honey, look! His eyes are open! They're blue..."

Their son blinked and focused as best he could on her face, following her with his eyes in vague fascination. She looked at her other boys, and they had blue eyes, too! She hadn't expected her babies to awaken for at least two weeks, and yet here they were, wide-eyed, ready to drink in the world that Swiftrunner and her Lady had made so bright and beautiful for them. She and her mate shared a proud smile. Surely this was an auspicious beginning.

Meanwhile, Gatekeeper was talking to the herb woman about where they would get clothes for the rest of the pack. Apparently they were important, and she could see why, with no fur; she worried already about her babies taking a chill.

"We should demand the elves donate clothing," the herb woman declared with a smile. Sundancer supposed she would get better at human facial expressions with time; this smile was definitely not the same as the smile she'd made for her mate and child.

"Fine," Latitia said, waving a hand at her from where she hovered over the human male. "Go help them gather everyone together, and meet us at the elven encampment. We'll get clothes. Listen to Morrigan and do whatever she says, Swiftrunner."

Sundancer caught her breath and braced herself, but to her surprise, Swiftrunner didn't challenge her for the disrespect. She was glad; they owed this small pack everything. _Everything_.

Anyway, they would all have to get used to listening to Latitia, because despite being larger by half, vastly stronger, and even a bit older, the human male usually deferred to her. And the two male elves seemed to have no standing in the group whatsoever, doing whatever they were told and generally speaking only when invited to do so, at least as far as she had seen. Granted, she had been a bit distracted for most of their time together, so perhaps she had misunderstood. She would ask her Nightsong to verify. It would not do to approach the wrong person and offend.

"Can we go home?" she asked Swiftrunner, adjusting the squirming infants in her arms. He nodded and jerked his head at Gatekeeper, who grimaced oddly when he tried to flick ears that no longer moved that way. He settled for nodding back and they clustered around the exit path until the herb woman, Morrigan, picked up her bag and followed.


	7. Reunions

The dying she-bear staggered about at random, pawing at her face and moaning pitifully, but the general course of her death throes sent her gradually further away from Firetooth and his young charge so, apparently, they weren't dead yet.

He closed his eyes and breathed through his teeth, hissing in an effort to control the agony of the Change. A series of sharp jabs of pain sparkled along his chest as his broken ribs finished reforming into a human chest, and he breathed a bit easier after that, the fractures resolving into a dull ache.

Beside him, the young werewolf he thought of as Drooly sat up and stared at his own hands, then turned and beamed down at him. Firetooth met the insufferably gleeful expression with a raised eyebrow. _Glad _you're_ enjoying yourself, boy. _He carefully rolled onto his side and helped himself upright. A sad heap of fur was all that remained of the other young werewolf, the one the bear had killed. He must have died before the Change took him. In the distance, a heavy thump told of the bear's final surrender.

"Are you all right?" Drooly asked. He sounded different, somehow. Clearer, more articulate.

"Of course," he replied gruffly, and managed to stand without wincing. Drooly stood also, and the two looked at each other for a long moment before the younger man's goofy grin came back and Firetooth grudgingly admitted, "You did well, when you attacked the bear."

Drooly's grin broadened and he looked about to speak, but Firetooth cut him off. "But don't forget that this entire mess is your fault. His death-" He just barely stopped himself referring to the corpse as 'Fuzzhead,' which would have been inappropriate- "was _your fault_. You disobeyed my direct order."

Drooly hung his head and hunched his shoulders, grimacing a little as he tried to flatten his ears and found out human ears don't move much. "Yes, sir," he whispered wretchedly.

Firetooth regarded the young man, realizing suddenly that he would never have recognized the boy had he not Changed right beside him. He did still have brown fur – hair, actually, humans have hair, and his was thick and curly – and dark brown eyes, but everything else was different. Would he be able to recognize Swiftrunner?

Would he even recognize his own mate? Would she recognize _him_?

"Let's go," he said abruptly and started back the way they had come. "We have to get back to the rest of our pack."

"What about him?" Drooly pointed at the dead werewolf uncertainly.

"Leave him. He's beyond caring." Firetooth set as brisk a pace as he could manage, finding his way home by memory through the familiar hunting grounds. If the other males thought they could take liberties with _his_ Nightsong under the excuse of failing to recognize her, then... well... They were wrong.

He shook himself, momentarily confused at the vagueness of his thoughts, wondering why his mind didn't fill with howling and blood and very specific, horrible, gruesome ideas. This unfocused dread was most unpleasant, the silence inside his own head unsettling and grim. He blamed the pain of his wounds and focused his thoughts on the rough path before him.

* * *

Nightsong tried to howl again, blushing when she heard her ridiculous voice. _I sound like a bird_, she though wryly. But there was nothing else for her to do but struggle painfully through the briars, thorns that had only hours before been a mere inconvenience now a nigh-impenetrable barrier. She was already clutching one arm across her generous breasts to protect them after the stupid things had gotten scratched one time too many. She struggled on for another few minutes and repeated her embarrassing 'howl.'

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

The rough shout came from somewhere off to her left, and she immediately turned towards it, wincing as she tried to go faster and snagged her hair on a bramble. "It's Nightsong! It's me! Who's that?"

Only _after_ calling out did it occur to her that the voice might be an elf, and not her pack at all. She froze for a terrified instant before a second voice, female, said in surprise, "Nightsong? What are you doing out here?" A pause, and then, "It's Sundancer, I'm with Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper. And the babies! Come quick and see them!"

Nightsong brightened and finally managed to make her painful way to the game trail her alphas were using, finding to her relief that she could indeed recognize Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper, at least now that she knew who they were. Swiftrunner still had his indefinable air of authority, Gatekeeper the slight twist to his mouth that implied he'd been everywhere and done everything. Sundancer must be the blond with the babies (two in her arms, one in Gatekeeper's), but she had no ideas about the fully-dressed women with_ shoes._

"Look, look at their blue eyes," Sundancer said excitedly, adjusting the two infants she held in her arms to show her, once Nightsong had finished offering a formal greeting to the two dominant males. The ritual was awkward as humans and she had settled on kissing their cheeks.

"May I?" Nightsong asked politely, holding out her arms, and Sundancer gratefully surrendered control of one of the surprisingly large and heavy infants.

Sundancer sighed and stretched out the arm she'd been using to hold him. "Phew," she said with a laugh. "Those boys are big. I'm just glad they came out before the Change."

"By the Lady, _yes_," Nightsong agreed fervently, imagining three babies this big coming out of her new petite human frame.

"By all means, continue to ignore me," the well-shod women said dryly.

A scowl flashed across both men's faces and Nightsong held her breath for a moment, but there was no explosion, and after a moment Sundancer said, "This is Morrigan..." and, as they began walking again along the blessedly open game trail, she explained the completely unbelievable events of the past 24 hours.

The disbelief must have shown on her face, because Sundancer laughed after she was done and added, "I know, I wouldn't have believed it either. Yet somehow it's still true. Latitia wants us to get everyone together and meet up with her as soon as we can."

"She was too busy fussing over her precious Templar to think about such minor matters as food and supplies," Morrigan put in. "But life as a human can be quite expensive. I suppose it is too much to ask if your _pack_ has any sort of treasure?"

They all looked at each other uncertainly, and then Swiftrunner suggested, "Would treasure include carved metal objects? We kept them as decorations, but I think humans wear them in war. There are pictures on the walls of our den," he added by way of explanation.

Morrigan shrugged. "I would have to see them, and I am far from expert on what humans will value, but anything is better than nothing. Sometimes they will pay good gold for the most absurd things."

"You – I mean, pardon my impertinence, but you speak as though you are not human yourself," Nightsong said, stumbling in confusion over how to address the stranger.

She smiled coldly. "I am human, but other humans would prefer not to admit it. I am a mage." The pack just stared at her in confusion, so she added, "A magic wielder." Another expectant pause, and she huffed in exasperation and said, "I can make things happen just by thinking about it."

"Ooohhh," they chorused, and Nightsong noted that the men's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, accepting her status with better grace in light of the strange and exotic power she claimed.

They emerged at last from the briars and into a serene and open space dominated by bracken ferns and grasses, and some ways off, a rabbit froze, hunkering itself down as it wondered whether it should hide or flee.

"In fact," Morrigan murmured, gesturing for them all to stay still, "I believe it is time for a demonstration."

With that, she began to whisper quietly to herself, moving her hands in a few complicated motions, and then with a thrust of her right hand and a musical tinkling sound, the rabbit suddenly glistened with frost. Nighsong gasped in astonishment, and Morrigan sauntered calmly to her prey, which thawed out just as she came to it and fell over, dead. She picked it up by the ears and stuffed it unceremoniously in her bag.

"Dinner," she announced, grinning at their expressions of awed respect, before turning and leading them on through the forest once more.

* * *

Dusk fell as Firetooth made his weary way down the stairs to the den. A few of the other hunting groups had returned for the night, others camping out if their search had taken them too far afield – he did not envy them sleeping outside without their fur. The rest of the pack milled about helplessly, confused without any of the dominant members around to give them instructions, and he reflected dully that he was probably in charge.

"Everyone line up and say your name," he said tiredly, as soon as he entered the den's common area and before they could descend upon him with questions. They just stared at him blankly.

"I'm Firetooth," he told them, realizing their confusion. "I assume Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper aren't here, yes?" A few of them nodded, and he went on. "So I'm in charge until they come back. Get in line and say your names. Let's get this mess straight."

Once they were all introduced, he found he could put names to faces relatively easily; all retained some aspects of their former appearance, however subtle. He noted in passing that the pack's few females were quite pleasing to look at, their form revealed clearly without fur and very curvy and smooth.

None of them was Nightsong, though.

"We don't have names," said one of the children. The pack had no very young children, the youngest being only just prepubescent, reflecting the gap between the loss of the old pack mother and Sundancer's coming of breeding age. But the little group of nameless youths also included adolescents like Drooly and they now stood together, gazing at him with unusually bright eyes.

"I know," he said shortly. "I'm going to my room. Set guards – Daystalker, see to that. Come get me if my mate returns."

She did not return that night, nor the following morning. The pack shared out what remained of an elk, killed the previous day and still reasonably fresh but not enough for a good meal for all of them. Firetooth kept a hunk of the haunch for later, justifying the act to himself by figuring that Nightsong _should_ be here, so she _should_ get a piece of meat, even though technically she was somewhere else. It occurred to him later that if he was going to use that kind of logic, he ought to have saved some for Swiftrunner. If the alpha came home first, he would give the meat to him instead, he decided.

He really, really hoped the alpha or the gatekeeper would return soon. The others were getting restive and he had no idea what to say to them. "What do we do now?" was not a question he was well-suited to answer – except, of course, when the answer was "Kill something and eat it." He doubted that would be enough now, unfortunately. He stood up with a jerk and stalked out of the den.

"I'm going for a perimeter walk," he told his friend Daystalker, who lurked behind a column near the den entrance. "I'll be back soon. You're in charge here. Don't let _anyone_ in."

"Thank you, sir, but I'm not dom-"

"For the love of the Lady, it's just a few minutes! You can handle it."

"Yes, sir." The lean man ducked his head obediently and came out of the shadow with some reluctance; his liking to blend in and stay unnoticed – so useful in a hunter – did not serve him well in a position of leadership. Firetooth felt a brief flicker of guilt at misusing his old friend, but told himself the taste of responsibility would be good for him. Or so Swiftrunner had said to him once. He strode out to the well-worn perimeter patrol path and began the familiar circuit.

His mind had begun to settle and he was enjoying the exercise so much he was considering taking another turn or two, when he came back around to the beginning and heard raised voices. _Oh, no,_ he thought and quickened his pace.

"-your damned Alpha, man, show some respect!"

"I don't – I'm not supposed to – Firetooth said not to-"

Poor Daystalker was falling all over himself in confusion. Firetooth burst out into the cleared area in front of the den and waved his arms to catch everyone's attention. "At ease, Daystalker. Obviously I didn't mean you should refuse the alpha entrance!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize him," he said miserably. "I'll go." He began to slink away into the forest, but the big man Firetooth assumed was his alpha called him back.

"Wait, I want to talk to everyone. Go inside and make sure everyone's ready to hear..."

Swiftrunner was still talking, telling him where to go, what to do, but Firetooth wasn't listening. He'd been wrong.

_Of course_ he would recognize Nightsong. _Damn_, but she was fine. In a minute he was going to be standing in a puddle of drool.

She caught him staring and frowned, drawing back a little before her eyes suddenly lit in comprehension. She smiled and waved, all the invitation he needed to rush over and catch her up in his arms. His ribs protested but he ignored them, kissed her soundly and then looked over her shoulder at his friend Daystalker, triumphantly mouthing the words _My mate_.

_Nice,_ Daystalker mouthed back with a grin.

Nightsong was babbling something about strangers, elves, dwarves, clothing, and shoes, but frankly, he was far more interested in getting this pack meeting over with so he could make some excuse to get her alone. "Let's go in," he interrupted her, taking her arm and leading her inside. The sooner the meeting started, the sooner it would be over and he could set about exploring the possibilities of her completely different and _extremely sexy_ new body.

* * *

_A thousand thanks to mille libri, Enaid Aderyn, JessicaJones and roxfox62 for their very kind reviews – you guys are awesomesauce! And a great big thank you to everyone else who's reading, too. You rock!_


	8. Departures

Nightsong giggled as Firetooth pulled her through the ruined palace, almost running in his haste to get to their room. "We're supposed to help pack," she protested, the strength of her argument somewhat undermined by her silly grin.

"You heard him, we've got a long walk ahead of us, we have to go meet those Warden people," he panted. "We won't get another chance to be alone for the Lady only knows how long." He came to an abrupt halt to turn on her and scoop her up in his arms. She squeaked, then laughed when she realized Firetooth the _human_ could balance perfectly well, could even walk with her in his arms – could even _run_, as it turned out.

He burst into their room and flung her down on the bedding before they both became aware of the terrified adolescent female standing in the corner. "What are you doing in _my_ room?" Firetooth snarled.

She cringed. "Alpha said everyone should help pack and look for treasures," she whimpered.

"Not in _my room_! Get out!"

She fled, and he slammed the rough door behind her. That plunged the room into darkness, and he immediately opened the door again. Evidently he was less concerned about privacy than visibility, she thought with another silly grin.

He turned back and raked his eyes over her, lips parting hungrily. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched his slow approach; she gasped when he swept a hand along one thigh and over her belly. His hands were so soft and warm, the human nails a vast improvement over inch-long claws, and she could feel _everything_.

"You're covered in scratches." He traced one with a fingertip, sending shivers up her spine.

"I think they need to be cleaned," she said breathlessly.

He growled in fierce agreement and bent his head to an angry red line across her breast, laving the wound with his tongue, and there were no more words.

* * *

Swiftrunner took a quick glance at the contents of an old flour sack offered to him by one of the young males, and nodded approvingly. "Good find. That that blue thing there might even be a jewel. Where did you get it?"

The boy grinned at him proudly. "The dragon was out hunting and I stole it."

Swiftrunner's eyes widened at the audacity – he'd forbidden them to go near the dragonette that made her lair in one of the palace outbuildings, for the beast was violently jealous of her hoard. But they would leave forever in a few hours, and the dragonette could rage through the palace all she liked, for they would be long gone. Their urgent need for treasure outweighed the danger, this time.

"Well done," he said, and the boy scurried to deposit his treasure in the growing heap.

Gatekeeper seemed to have the packing well under control, so Swiftrunner siezed the first opportunity to slip out of the common area and visit his mate. She had gone straight to her bed without attending the pack meeting, much to the disappointment of the other females who wanted to play with the new children.

Clearwater sat just outside her door, cuddling one of the babies and trying to keep him from fussing. The girl had a quiet wolf and had chosen her name when particularly young, bearing the teasing of her peers with serenity because she "liked the sound of it." Swiftrunner himself was undecided as to whether the name was lame or poetic, but that didn't much matter; she was gentle and biddable, if inclined to laze about, and a safe choice of helper for Sundancer.

Now, she looked up at him with pale eyes fringed in long, blond lashes and whispered, "Mistress is asleep. I didn't want this little one to wake her."

He nodded and entered the dark room, waiting a few moments until his eyes adjusted and he could make out Sundancer's form curled around the other two baby boys. He knelt awkwardly and crawled across the bedding after a moment's confusion over legs that felt ridiculously long and arms equally ridiculously short, and curled his own body around hers. She stirred and murmured something sleepy.

"Shh. It's just me." He drew her honey-colored hair back from her face, enjoying its smoothness and the way it wrapped itself around his fingers almost like a living thing, and settled himself with his head on his arm. He felt her relax back into sleep, heard the tiny breaths of the infants, and wished he could stay like this forever.

But eventually the baby in Clearwater's arms finally refused any further attempt to be comforted, and burst into a lusty wail, waking Sundancer with a start. The gentle girl brought him in to nurse and Swiftrunner left them to their work, pressing a kiss on Sundancer's cheek before returning to help Gatekeeper tear the pack away from their home.

* * *

Gatekeeper paced again through the abandoned, echoing halls of their ancient den, ostensibly to ensure that nothing had been left behind, but in reality to visit his own room one last time.

He paused in the doorway and gazed at the empty cell, its bare stone walls, and the window his mate had been so proud of. He thought he could almost hear her voice, though he knew by now the memory had faded and become only a memory of a memory, and someday not even that would remain.

_"Look, I fixed the window. See?" She grabbed his paw and pulled him across to the old window that had long ago been buried along with the rest of the palace. But now she opened it, the rusted hinges creaking softly as the dark glass swung inward, and on the other side was a sort of tunnel leading up to the surface and letting in sunlight._

_"Hey, that's nice!" He leaned his head out through the window and peered up at the forest canopy above._

_She beamed, but then a shadow crossed her face and she asked hesitantly, "Do you think Red Fang will mind?"_

_He frowned. He probably would mind, if he found out his subordinate had a window when his own room did not, but... "We can keep it closed when people are here. It's not like he ever comes to visit."_

_"We could put curtains on it! Just like people!" she said happily, and she looked so damned cute, full of pride and excitement, that he all but tackled her onto their bed._

Of course, he reflected, the first time it rained, the window tunnel had poured water into their den. She had been so disappointed that he had spent an entire afternoon gnawing an old shield into the right shape, adding strips of hide to make a reasonably watertight seal, for use as a storm shutter.

He hadn't opened the window once since losing her.

He went to it now, though, and forced open the protesting hinges, finding the tunnel stuffed with leaves and completely unusable. A terrified mouse stared at him from her nest full of squirming pink pups, and he hastily closed the window, muttering apologies.

Enough of this. It was time to move on.

* * *

_I'm taking a break to visit my mother, so updates will be spotty for a week or two. I promise it's temporary! Thank you all so much for reading! You guys rock SO HARD._


	9. Meals

_Thank you all for your patience! Had a good visit with my mum, and she's back in Tennessee now. Updates will be more regular again. _

_This chapter corresponds to chapters 37 and 38 in my other story, "The Great Escape." As usual, this is just FYI, and those chapters are not required reading._

* * *

Sundancer swallowed a whimper of... something. Some potent combination of frustration, fear, and not having slept more than an hour at a time for four days. Her firstborn, Baby One, just would not latch, and she didn't know why. He would suck a mouthful or two and fall off, wailing and needing her help again. She worried there was some lasting damage from his difficult birthing. She worried she wasn't giving enough milk. She worried that she should somehow be teaching him better.

She worried about a lot of things.

With her boys had come joy indescribable, filling her up until she felt she would burst. She couldn't hold them close enough, couldn't get enough of their scent and softness. And bound up in that joy, inextricably, was cold and naked terror. They were so tiny and helpless, so fragile that a single careless mistake -

Did not bear thinking about. She had hoped to feel better once she had her pack, but she feared the other females, whose greedy eyes lingered too long on her boys and whose fingers clearly itched to hold them and perhaps never give them back. Jealousy had always sat plain on the faces of all but her closest friends and she found she could no longer ignore it. Some of the males eyed the boys with interest; others merely curled their lips at their noise and mess.

Was she supposed to feel this way? Shouldn't she just be happy? Shouldn't the boys _sleep_ more? She missed her wolf desperately, wishing for the steady certainty of instinct. Her wolf would have known what to do. At the very least, her wolf had had _four breasts_.

Baby One slipped off her breast again, crying out and waving his tiny fist in frustrated fury. Beside her, Swiftrunner stirred, mumbling something in his sleep. She forced her attention back to the present and cupped the little head close again, silencing his cries before they woke her mate. For only a moment, though, and he turned away and squirmed, whimpering.

"What's wrong?" Swiftrunner asked, rough with sleep.

She burst into tears. "I don't know and I don't know what to do and I don't know who to ask and I'm so _tired_!"

He sighed, sat up and rubbed his puffy eyes. In the darkness, she could hear several other members of the pack grumble and roll over, covering their ears. "Come on. Let's take the boys a little further away before he wakes everyone up."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She let her mate set her on her feet and waited while he picked up one of the other boys. Gatekeeper roused himself and gathered the third in his arms - she'd always known he paced a lot in the night, but now that he was staying with them instead of in his own room, she was beginning to wonder if he ever slept at all. Sometimes, when she woke, he was gone on patrol; other times, his dark eyes blinked open to regard her from where he sat leaning on a tree.

They began to make their way through the impenetrably dark forest, packmates growling when they were bumped into, until a sparkling bluish light sprang into existence off to her right, revealing Morrigan. The fey light cast deep shadows across her cheekbones and gave her the appearance of some wild and magical creature, not a human at all. She indicated them to follow her with a jerk of her head, the gesture more wolf than woman, and led them a short distance to her little shelter and its smoldering coals. The fire had gone to sleep, but the small kettle steamed cheerfully in the cool night air.

"I found mothersthistle," Morrigan murmured, pouring something out of the kettle and into her tin cup. "It will help bring your milk in." Lest Sundancer think her too kind, she added, "Then perhaps I can get some sleep without your hungry offspring waking us every hour."

"Is that the problem?" Sundancer asked miserably. She knew it was her fault somehow.

But Morrigan just shrugged. "I hope so, because if not, then I know not what to try next. _Mothering,_" she spat out the word a startling flash of bitterness, "is not something I understand well, having received rather little of it myself."

Sundancer adjusted Baby One, who was still squirming and fussing pitifully, to free up a hand for the cup. She started the lap at the tea, but caught herself when Morrigan cleared her throat pointedly and instead held the mug to her lips and drank, like a human.

"Thank you," she whispered, handing back the empty cup. Then she turned her attention back to soothing her son.

* * *

Gatekeeper strode in pensive silence on the fringe of their group, with the excuse of keeping an eye on the young as they played. Most of his attention, though, was on his own footsteps, the swing of his arms, the feel of the air and leaves on his bare skin, and trying to keep a grip on the world with his eyes instead of his nose.

The younger members of the pack seemed to have no such difficulty. They ran through the forest with wild abandon, paying little attention to scratches and bruises now that they knew Morrigan's magical poultice would fix everything, while they chattered excitedly to each other and made up their games. The happy noise they made had drawn him out here, when the weak, thin cries of one baby or another had finally become too much for him to bear. Even when all three slept, he found his gaze constantly wandering back to Sundancer – did her ribs show more than they had a few days ago? Were the shadows under her eyes getting darker?

The timing of the Change could not possibly have been worse, he decided.

"No fair! No fair! You have to hop on one foot, that's the rules!"

"No I don't! I touched _him_ with the stick and now _he_ has to hop on one foot!"

"You did not!"

"Did too!"

"I got the bone! I got it! Chase me, chase me!"

One of the smallest boys had apparently stolen the 'prize' of the game while the bigger ones argued, sparking a hot and loud pursuit around the entire pack and ending when the boy 'won' the game by whacking Gatekeeper on the arm with the bone. Evidently he had somehow become the 'goal;' startled by his own daring, the boy jumped back again, poised for flight. Gatekeeper growled, but insincerely. They were having too much fun to discipline, and it hadn't really hurt anyway.

Even so, when he growled, the child pack scampered back to the front of the procession with an appropriate display of chagrin and began to work out a new game. He fell back into step with Swiftrunner, who held one of the infants out for him to hold. Almost absently cradling the baby to his chest as Swiftrunner sighed and shook some feeling back into his cramped arms, he noticed that the young gathered unconsciously around Firetooth's erstwhile hunting partner, an older boy with curly brown hair, and eagerly agreed to his ideas for the new game. Gatekeeper was wondering idly whether he should keep an eye on that one as too dominant for his age and a possible threat to Swiftrunner, when the strangeness of the scene suddenly struck him.

Fair? Rules? Since when did young werewolves even consider such things? And when was the last time he'd seen them engage in a game more complicated than Chase or Tug? He had completely ignored the abrupt change to complex, complete sentences and dismissed their new brightness of eye as a mere physical difference... But clearly, something much more significant had happened during their Change.

"Look! Look!"

And then, everything was back to normal. The whole group snapped to attention and began alerting the pack with their shouts of "Hey! Look!" until Morrigan snapped at them to cease their inane barking, they were not dogs.

They had rejoined the Wardens at last, and his eyes went immediately to the sacks of venison jerky. Finally, enough for everyone to have a proper meal!

* * *

The campfires burned, the smoke gathered in clouds and blew into his eyes, and this damned jerky took too damned long to chew. Firetooth washed the last bite down with half his water ration, scowling at how his jaw was actually _tired_ now. A week ago, he would have thoroughly enjoyed such tough, long-lasting chewiness. As if having no fur and needing to wear clothes wasn't bad enough, his weak new body had turned what would once have been a great pleasure into a tiresome chore.

He kept a baleful eye on the Warden pack, all eating together and at the same time. Their Alpha was _weak_. He let his mate boss him around all the time, hiding inside his metal armor, laughing and making jokes like he didn't even mind. Small wonder he could do no better than that thin, squirrelly girl. Gray Warden Latitia, last bulwark against the Blight. Pah.

Nevertheless, he had his orders, and they were to follow these Wardens around until they eventually ended up at a place called Redcliffe. Apparently they needed fighters for their war, badly enough to accept a whole pack of strangers – but not quite badly enough to accept outlandish behavior. Hence the clothing. The loathsome, itchy, restrictive clothing.

And ugly. They all had the same shapeless 'tunic' and now he could hardly tell men from women! Well, no, that was an exaggeration. Not even Warden Alistair's armor could have made Nightsong look like anything less than _all_ woman.

Where was she, anyway?

He sat up straighter and scanned the camp, eventually spotting her in attendence to Sundancer. With a sharp pang of guilt, he realized he had completely forgotten to make his tithe of food tonight, and now he had eaten all of it. Granted, she already sat behind a sizable mound of uneaten food and certainly didn't need any more, but that wasn't the point. He stood up and prowled around the scattered knots of pack members, looking for some more food.

Ah! He grinned when he noticed Bonecrusher surrepticiously adding his own small pouch to the pack's treasure pile. The brute was on guard duty tonight; he must be trying to save some for later. Firetooth strode over and brushed past him to grab the pouch, moving with authority and fully expecting the lower-ranking male to meekly surrender it.

"Not so fast, Fat-tooth."

He shrugged his shoulder away before the meaty hand landed on it, and spun to bare his (short, blunt, _human_) teeth at the other male. Bonecrusher, though hardly the brightest star in the sky, outweighed him by half, the difference between them much more striking after the Change. Clearly he thought their heirarchy should be re-established in light of his increased size and strength. Idiot.

"I want that jerky, and I am going to take it," Firetooth said, low and hissing through his clenched teeth. "And if you are too stupid to get my name right, then you may call me Striker."

Bonecrusher flexed his fingers to make the muscles of his arms writhe like a sack of weasels, rumbling, "Alpha is too busy to decide who should be Striker now."

Firetooth stiffened at the implication, and his hand was moving even before the last word had fully left the insubordinate mouth. He struck at Bonecrusher's throat, claws outstretched-

Claws that weren't there anymore. Bonecrusher flinched, just enough that the blow connected with his jaw instead of the soft flesh of his throat, and Firetooth heard, rather than felt, his first two fingers breaking. But he had committed himself entirely to the blow, with enough follow-through that his knuckles connected solidly. Bonecrusher crashed to the ground like a falling tree.

Firetooth stared blankly at his broken hand. Now what? It didn't hurt, yet, not while his blood still pumped with adrenaline... The familiar thrill felt somehow flat and unsatisfying without his wolf howling in harmony with the pounding in his ears. Suddenly he was very tired, shaking as he started to come down from the high.

"Oh! Oh, what happened? What did you do to your hand?" Nightsong came fluttering over and fussed most irritatingly, touching him and cooing over his injury. She tried to pull on his wrist and he growled, barely checking himself from shoving her violently away. Her eyes widened and she apparently got the hint, running off again to the Lady knows where.

Right. Jerky. He kicked Bonecrusher's unconscious body aside none too gently, digging out the pouch of food with his good hand. Nightsong was coming back with Morrigan and her jar of magic healing stuff. First things first, though. He tossed the pouch's contents onto the pile of food near Sundancer. She didn't notice, engrossed in nursing one of her pups.

This was going to be a longer journey than he'd thought.


	10. Places

_All love and kisses to everyone who's read and especially reviewed. Please do let me know if I'm being too vague about any of this. It's hard for me to imagine myself as someone who **doesn't** already know the whole story ;)_

_Corresponds to this chapter: fanfiction dot net /s/5875319/39/The_Great_Escape – not required reading, contains lots of darkspawn kibbles & bits._

* * *

Firetooth resented the order to stay away from the fight with the darkspawn, hiding with the females and children while the Warden pack hogged all the excitement. Resented it so badly, in fact, that he set out after them the moment Swiftrunner's back was turned.

He could still hear the clanking and jingling of Warden Alistair's armor, and he tracked them with his ears instead of his nose, trotting along the edge of the forest where he could duck out of sight if necessary. Yes, yes, darkspawn blood is poisonous, he didn't have any weapons or armor, blah blah etc. That didn't mean he couldn't _watch_. He might learn valuable darkspawn-fighting techniques, he realized, and immediately decided that was what he was doing – not disobeying a direct order, but gathering important information for his pack with selfless disregard for his own safety.

The trees gave way abruptly to open grassland and he skidded to a stop, clumsy when his feet slipped on the grass without claws to anchor them. The Wardens were already engaging the darkspawn and he crouched low to the ground under a shrub to watch. By the Lady, the creatures were horrid.

He was prepared to scorn Warden Alistair for taking his mate into battle with him, especially when the man charged directly into the creatures' ranks and was immediately surrounded. He wondered briefly, if the Warden alpha died, whether the elf would take his place, or if their pack would try to join Swiftrunner's. Then the little female Warden slaughtered fully a third of the darkspawn, flanking them with precision while Alistair held their attention, and the situation didn't look quite so hopeless anymore.

He'd done it on purpose, Firetooth mused as the destruction continued. He was reminded of hunting with Gatekeeper and Swiftrunner, himself in the flanking position and responsible for delivering as much damage as possible – a howling killer, death from behind. Suddenly dual-weapon style didn't seem like a soft option at all. Let Alistair keep his slow, heavy sword and shield.

A rustle behind him and he whirled, coming face-to-face with Nightsong. She was looking over his shoulder, gazing with rapt excitement at the battle.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in a harsh whisper. "You're always running off! Why can't you stay with the other females like you're supposed to!"

"I followed you," she said, pouting adorably. He tried to hold on to his righteous indignation in spite of the soft, moist, pouty lips. "Anyway," she added, tossing her hair back from her face so it caught the light _just so_, "Gatekeper isn't my mate, you are. _You_ didn't tell me to stay."

"I didn't think I had to! This is dangerous." Firetooth drew himself up. "I'm gathering important darkspawn-fighting information."

"I'm sure I'm perfectly safe with _you,_" she declared, and she did have a point. He'd like to see any of those darkspawn try anything – he'd tear their throats out, blunt human teeth or no. Although the poisoned blood might be a problem...

Taking his thoughtful silence as agreement, she settled back on her haunches to watch. "They are very impressive, aren't they? Look! The Alpha just cut that one's head clean off – look, it's rolling away! Incredible!"

Firetooth snorted dismissively. He didn't like Nightsong admiring a man who outranked him. "He's very slow compared to..." he started to say, but stumbled over complimenting Latitia's combat prowess. No matter how competent she was, a woman had no place on the battlefield.

"See how shiny his armor is," she continued. "You should get some!"

"You shouldn't be here. Go back," he snapped, her spell broken. Damned Alphas.

"But-"

"Go! Now!"

She stomped off, sulking. He watched another few moments, but the battle was over, their elven assassin making sure all the fallen were definitely dead. Ugh. Firetooth gave up and stalked after his mate, breaking into a jog to overtake her when it occurred to him that _he_ ought to be the one to report to Swiftrunner. It had been _his_ idea, after all.

* * *

Swiftrunner found it hard to believe that this town had been under darkspawn attack only a day before. The market buzzed like an overturned beehive, the cacaphony of voices and colors far beyond anything he had ever experienced. He hovered anxiously close to his mate as they followed Nightsong and Leliana, the latter navigating the many stalls as easily as he might walk through trees.

His pockets were heavy with gold and silver, the dwarf Bodahn having sold most of their treasure. The exchange didn't seem quite right to Swiftrunner. They had given away high-quality armor and beautiful old jewelry, and in return they had been given a sack full of dull metal discs.

At last they arrived at the dress shop. "That blue is so pretty," Nightsong said, pointing.

"Do you want to try it on?" Leliana waved the owner of the shop over to help, and the two women began trying on seemingly every dress in the shop.

Nightsong pressed the infant she'd been holding into Swiftrunner's arms, and he held the sleeping boy absently as his attention began to wander. He was glad he hadn't brought Firetooth, even if it meant he'd had to leave Gatekeeper behind, too. Swiftrunner normally brought Firetooth on all excursions and never made him stay at home, and his Striker was having a great deal of trouble understanding why anything should be different now, but the volatile man could never have tolerated the crowds.

He worried over how to introduce his pack to a human settlement. Denerim would surely be beyond them, but they would have to be ready by the time they got to Redcliffe. He would have to introduce them to it gradually, keep them in pairs or small groups to steady each other.

He mentally ticked off names on his pack roster, considering all their strengths and weaknesses and forming them into groups to pair steadier wolves with those who most needed their influence. He was grimly aware that their only prior experiences with human territory was as thieves in the night, or – for the oldest ones, the ones who remembered Red Fang – as violent raiders bent on destruction...

Sundancer came out of the changing room and twirled, asking Leliana if the dress fit.

It fit. Oh, Lady, did it fit. The brown color set off the honeyed gold of her hair, the lacing at the bodice pulling it snug to her figure. She ended her twirl to listen to Leliana's verdict and caught him staring. Her blue eyes lit with secret warmth, just as they had so long ago.

_"I hope I don't need to repeat my warning, and you all understand the importance of silence." Swiftrunner cast his eyes on each of his men in turn, landing on Gatekeeper last. The older male hunched in the rear of their group, still thin and shadowed around the eyes from his savage beating. Though he suspected those shadows would linger long after the other scars had faded._

_They all nodded, bowing their heads low before him and sleeking their ears back in respect before filing out of the abandoned tower one at a time. Swiftrunner's heart ached at their trust. He was younger than almost all of them and not clearly dominant, not like Red Fang. They followed him because he had convinced them, argued and persuaded and bribed with tales of the golden future he would give them, he and the Lady._

_Gatekeeper ducked his head under Swiftrunner's on his way out, and he obliged by nuzzling him behind the ears, accepting his ritual obeisance. The exchange took only a moment and then he was alone, the older male trotting out with his tail low, but not quite as low as it had been before._

_Swiftrunner sighed and exited himself after a count of five, intending to circle around and return to the pack's den by another way, to prevent Red Fang from connecting them to him. If the Alpha found out and killed him, he didn't want all his friends to die too._

_A step out the door and he stilled, scenting the air. His muzzle swung to his right like a vine yearns toward the light, and he saw her._

_"I won't tell, either," Sundancer whispered, her eyes glowing just for him and a hint of excitement in her voice._

_He had to smile. "No, of course you won't."_

_"Soon?"_

_He looked away. "I don't know. I hope so. But I can't rush, you understand? It would just get good men killed, probably including me."_

_"I know."_

_She took a hesitant step toward him, her paw hanging in midair, a question. He shook his head and backed away. "You know what he'll do if he smells me on you."_

_"I know," she said again, drooping, and turned to walk home alone._

_"Soon," he called after her. _

* * *

Nightsong re-folded her new tent, the heavy canvas awkward and stubborn under her hands. Alpha Warden Alistair had told everyone it should fit neatly at the bottoms of their packs, but try as she might, it was either too big or ended up in a sort of sloppy wad.

"Everyone else is done packing," Firetooth said peevishly as he struggled with his new leather armor. He jerked hard on a buckle, and swore when it pinched his finger. "I'm going outside. Hurry up, this is embarrassing."

She nodded and shook out the canvas again to start over. She'd already folded all the rest of their belongings, mostly just a change of clothes and blankets, but she had to put the tent in first because it was heaviest (according to Alpha Warden Alistair) and it just _would not fit_.

A long shadow passed over her and the clinking of armor alerted her to his approach. She looked up quickly, afraid Alistair was angry with her for delaying them, but he was smiling. "Want a hand?" he offered, and knelt down beside her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, wishing she could flatten her ears and wondering what she ought to be doing instead.

"It's okay, I should have demonstrated. Here-" He took the corners of the cloth and straightened them, guiding her hands to fold it once, twice, turn it around, fold it again... He smelled of sun-heated steel, sweat, and leather. And soap. And a little blood, very old. A notable absence of anxiety, unlike all her packmates. Some sort of flower...

He sat back on his heels and raised an eyebrow. "Humans don't sniff each other like that."

Her cheeks burned as she drew back and turned her head away submissively. "I'm sorry. F-force of habit." When he didn't move, she risked a glance back at him and added, "We used to consider it polite."

"Ha! Well, I wouldn't want to be rude." He grinned, leaned over and sniffed theatrically at the air over her head. "Ahh... I feel all civilized now. Too bad most humans don't smell as nice as you – take too deep a whiff of some of the soldiers at Redcliffe and you're likely to faint."

She giggled, hunching her shoulders when his breath tickled her ear, only for an instant and probably by accident, as he leaned over to grab her pack and stuff the neatly folded tent into it.

"Nightsong, you shouldn't bother the Warden Alpha," Gatekeeper's gently chiding voice came from the barn door. "He has more important things to do than pack your bag."

"No, I don't," Alistair said cheerfully, tossing the rest of her belongings into the bag and pulling the drawstring tight. He stood up and started to sling it over his own shoulder, but Firetooth had come in behind Gatekeeper – p_robably wondering what's taking so long_, she thought miserably – and he grabbed hold of a strap, locking eyes with Alistair. Nightsong held her breath.

"Mine," Firetooth said flatly. He wasn't just talking about the bag.

Alistair blinked and let go. "Right, of course. Just trying to help."

"Ready to go?" Gatekeeper asked her, but she was too relieved to speak.

"Yes," Firetooth answered for her. "Let's go."

* * *

A young man followed along at the rear edge of their caravan, his mind whirring and pulsing in a way that it never had, processing everything he had learned in the few days since he had Changed in that clearing with Firetooth. Already some truths were becoming clear to him.

Everything had a name, and a purpose. A place where it fit.

The clouds? They rained. The rain kept the plants alive. The plants (rye grass, maple tree, daisy, so many names) fed the animals. The animals fed _him_. Leliana had explained it all with gentle amusement at his eager repetition of _how_? How did the grass grow? How did the cows turn it into cheese?

Everything had a name, and a purpose.

Except him.


	11. Flash Point

Just before dinner, that unnamed young man slipped easily through the rail fence and into the cattle barn, for no reason other than curiosity.

They were to stay here for at least two days while the Warden pack did business in Denerim, before turning around and going on the Redcliffe. He gave a quick, irritated shiver, like an animal flicking away a fly – not animal. Mule. Bodahn had mules. It was important to be specific. Anyway, he wished he could have gone into the city, too.

Or into the market, or into one of the small villages he'd seen in the distance. Or one of the human houses. He was ravenous for more of this colorful world, and they never let him do _anything_.

So, here he was in the cow barn. He gazed wide-eyed at the long tubes for the milk, the tank on one end to collect it. Stalls lined both walls, all identical, with mangers and little trays for the cows' grain. He knew this because there was grain in them now. A soft patter, like rain, came from a stall farther down as someone tossed a fresh handful of grain into one of the trays, and then a girl emerged, holding a bucket. He stiffened in shock.

She had glossy brown curls tied back from her delicate face with a scarf, a simple blue dress under a heavy apron, and clogs to protect her feet. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and glanced over at him, giving a little squeak of surprise and skittering a few steps away from him. A dog heard her and galloped in from the far end of the barn, a big dog, who came to a stiff-legged stop in front of her and growled protectively.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here," he stammered, terrified she would run away. That the dog might kill him seemed an inconsequential danger by comparison.

She hesitated, eyes wide like a frightened deer. What had Gatekeeper said? _Make your body soft, make your eyes soft, make your steps soft, or your prey will flee_. He tried to obey, relaxing his shoulders with an effort and letting his hands fall. They shook, so he clasped them behind his back instead, and tried to look friendly by smiling.

It seemed to help; she straightened a little and said, in a very small and pretty voice like a bird's, "It's okay. But aren't you with those new people? You're not supposed to wander around, Papa will be very cross. He might shoot you."

"It would be worth it to have seen you," he said earnestly.

She blinked, her rosebud mouth forming a perfect circle of astonishment. The clopping of hooves sounded on the packed earth outside the barn and she gasped, waving frantically for him to go before her father arrived with the cows. With a last reluctant look over his shoulder, he slipped out the way he'd come in and slunk off to rejoin his pack, heart pounding.

* * *

Firetooth glanced at the flushed young male who was doing a very bad job of trying to slip back into the barn without being noticed, but was too busy to demand an accounting. He turned his attention back to the elf in from of him, just in time to deflect a blow aimed at his heart.

"Very good, I see I cannot so easily surprise you," Zevran praised. He had begun training them all to fight with daggers, modifying techniques to let them use the blades like claws. At first, taking instructions from an elf had rankled, but over the past week Firetooth had grudgingly begun to respect him as a skilful combatant and, almost, a kindred spirit – at least, they both went straight for the jugular with no messing about.

The elf tucked his daggers back into his belt and told them all, "I think that's enough for today. My stomach tells me we are overdue for dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Firetooth protested, which wasn't true. He was quite hungry, and tired after hours of walking and then a long training session, but still seethed with nervous energy built up over several days of boredom and restraint. Gatekeeper cocked his head at him, not at all fooled, but shrugged and followed his Alpha when he agreed that it was time for a break.

"Oh come on," he called after Zevran, shifting his weight from foot to foot in agitation. "We hardly did anything. I'm not tired at all. Why should _I_ have to stop just because _you're_ not fit enough to keep fighting-" He stopped himself when Swiftrunner leveled a frown at him over his shoulder, flushing as shame over being corrected translated instantly into frustrated anger.

They had been doing the same stupid drills for days and he was _bored_. Every day all they did was walk in a straight line, eating dead food out of bags, listening to lectures from _women_ about how to behave. It was intolerable!

"You ready for dinner?" He spun to see Warden Alistair talking to his little mate, who sat with her lap full of leather, adjusting it to fit one of his packmates.

"I just had a snack," she replied. "I'm going to finish this first."

"I'll wait for you," Alistair offered, and Firetooth curled his lip in disgust. _Proper_ Alphas don't wait for _any_one.

"Alistair," he called. "Fight me."

"Oh?" Alistair looked up curiously. "Did Zevran say you're ready to learn to fight against armored opponents?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on."

Alistair got out his shield and wrapped his sword to blunt its edge, while Firetooth wondered what the hell he was thinking. The weirdness of the situation baffled him. Swiftrunner would never have tolerated such an open challenge, would in fact have punished him severely for it, but now they were doing all this "practice" stuff where apparently it was okay to fight whoever you wanted. And didn't actually try to kill each other. Still, Alistair's mild reaction to being called out in front of his own _mate_ did nothing to improve his standing in Firetooth's eyes.

"First you should learn to protect yourself," Alistair said, setting his feet into a fighter's stance and bracing his shield. "You can deflect a sword just like a dagger, but you have to use more force and beware the length of the blade. Ready?"

Firetooth nodded, his heart beginning to race. Alistair swung his sword in a slow arc, and he met it as Zevran had shown him, but only barely turned it aside. He growled in frustration.

"Hold your elbows closer to your sides," Alistair instructed, demonstrating. "You'll have better leverage."

Firetooth swallowed a fresh surge of irritation at being spoken to like a puppy just learning to use his teeth, and forced himself to obey. He turned the second blow aside easily, and grinned as the sword's weight and momentum pulled Alistair slightly off-balance. Without thinking, he lunged at the Warden's briefly exposed right side.

"Nice," Alistair approved, but instead of deflecting the blow like Zevran did, he brought his shield across and whacked Firetooth in the shoulder.

His leather armor kept him from injury, but the heavy weight of the shield caught him by surprise and he stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he automatically tried to use his (entirely absent) tail for balance. Even more humiliating, he was well aware that the larger man had gone easy on him. Alistair would at _least_ respect him enough to fight properly, or Firetooth would _teach_ him respect.

"Stop playing around," he growled.

The other man took a half step back, affecting concern. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I'll slow down."

The absolute _arse_!

Firetooth's eyes blazed and he felt his cheeks flush; off to his left the clatter of dropped cutlery momentarily drew Alistair's attention. The Warden smiled reassuringly at whoever had made the noise and saluted with the tip of his sword, finally piquing Firetooth's curiosity enough to glance over. It was Nightsong, her hands clasped over her mouth and her face absolutely white. She scurried away, but the damage was done.

Insult him in front of his mate? _Flirt_ with his mate right in front of him? _Again_?

Alistair turned back to him and frowned uncertainly at the look on his face. Good. "Are you, uh... You sure you want to continue? Maybe we should-"

"Fight me."

Alistair shrugged and swung a rather dubious sword at Firetooth's middle, exactly the same as before. Like he needed to be told again. Pff. He deflected the blade, throwing more of his weight behind it and pulling the larger man further off his balance. Then he flicked the sheath off his dagger with his thumb and lunged again at Alistair's side.

Alistair started in surprise, too off-balance and unprepared to catch him with his shield this time, and instead brought his elbow down and clocked Firetooth sharply across the head - but not before the blade slid smoothly between metal plates, leather strapping, and ribs. Firetooth hissed in pleasure at the feel of flesh parting before the naked steel, even better than claws.

Alistair cried out in pain and shock, jerking away and dropping his sword, blood pouring out to glaze his armor and shine in the setting sun. Defeated! "Ow! Andraste's flaming _arse_, man, what are you doing?"

The female Warden jumped up and came running to fuss over her mate, and Firetooth had a sudden and thrilling thought. Their pack had never met any other packs, so he wasn't sure how this worked, but was Firetooth her Alpha now? More importantly, was she _his_? She glared up at him, tiny and speechless with fury. It was cute.

"I win," he told her smugly, and waited to see what she would do.

She turned away, drooping, and he straightened expectantly. She put on Alistair's gauntlet – that was weird – and suddenly pain flared through his skull and he stumbled back in astonishment, his head spinning and mouth filling with blood from where he'd bitten his tongue.

She hit him! A _female _hit him! With metal gloves on, too!

He felt her snatch his dagger from his numb fingers, and then the sharp bite of its tip against his throat cleared his head better than cold water. He blinked down at her, too incredulous to fear the murder in her eyes.

* * *

_They're properly in the soup now, aren't they? ;)_ _Thank you all, for reading and especially for reviewing. Your support and encouragement means a lot to me!_


	12. In Kind

_Hey-o! Rating changed! Now rated M for violence. _

* * *

Swiftrunner was just about to dig into his delicious-smelling slice of ham when Nightsong burst into the barn, crying, "Alpha! Alpha!"

"What?" he demanded, but his irritation faded when he saw her face and he set his plate aside and came to his feet.

"F-Firetooth," she stammered, and that was all he needed to know. He dashed past her and out into the farmyard to see Warden Alistair sitting in a spreading puddle of blood and his mate holding a knife to Firetooth's throat and screaming at him, and his heart sank down to his feet.

It was his fault. Not just because he was Alpha and so everything in his pack was his responsibility, but because he'd known Firetooth was simmering and liable to boil over at any minute. The long walk and the difficult lessons, with no hunting to break the monotony, weighed heavily on them all and his Striker wasn't a patient man. He should never have left him alone.

At the same time, though, Firetooth was _his_ man and Latitia had no business threatening him. She should have come for help, like Nightsong had done.

So by the time he'd crossed the farmyard in three long strides and laid a hand on Latitia's tiny shoulder, his face was a stony mixture of anger and shame and his voice rather colder than it ought to have been as he said, "I'll thank you to let me discipline my own men."

"Then discipline them!" she snapped, hurling the dagger away. "Get him out of my sight! He's not to come within ten paces of Alistair ever again or I swear by my ancestors I will gut him like a dog!"

She turned to attend to her mate, and Swiftrunner grabbed Firetooth by the collar and dragged him a few steps away, lingering to be sure the Warden Alpha would recover. If he died, Firetooth's punishment would have to be very severe indeed... But Morrigan brought over her jar of magic healing stuff and the bleeding soon stopped.

Swiftrunner turned back to his man, who was gingerly touching his rapidly-swelling jaw, and jerked his head for him to follow, leading him around behind the barn and out of sight. Nightsong trailed along, wringing her hands.

"I'm sorry," Firetooth said quickly, dropping to all fours in a great show of submission. "I know it was wrong."

"Do you?" Swiftrunner snarled. "It's not your place to pass judgment on another pack's Alpha. We are not animals in the woods! We are humans now! There are laws!"

Firetooth let out a low growl of resentment, and Swiftrunner cuffed him sharply across the ear. The growl stopped.

"Nightsong, will you leave us?" he asked her politely, and she fled.

Turning back to Firetooth, he said more gently, "I know this is hard on you. It's hard on all of us, but you _must _learn. You _must_."

Firetooth nodded.

Swiftrunner knelt and took his man's right wrist and elbow in his hands. "You know I have to punish you, my friend."

Firetooth nodded again, staring resolutely at the ground, and with a rough _crack_, Swiftrunner broke his Striker's arm over his knee.

_Swiftrunner waited a long minute after Sundancer left, loitering around the ruined tower where he'd held his meeting of revolutionaries, to give her a good head start. As much as he didn't want Red Fang to connect his men to him, he feared even more for him to suspect Sundancer. He didn't know what the brute would do, and didn't want to find out. _

_But after Swiftrunner had started on his way home, the occasional soft brushing of leaves over fur told him he was being followed. He stopped and sat on his haunches, calling, "I know you're there. Come out."_

_A rangy young werewolf, bones showing through his fur from too much growing and not enough eating, stepped out into view with his head held low and wary. Swiftrunner fixed him with a hard, questioning look, and the newcomer flattened his ears._

"_What can I do for you?" Swiftrunner asked, somewhat relieved by the friendly gesture. _

_He didn't speak right away, chewing over his response with the painful labor typical of young werewolves, until he said, "I want you for Alpha."_

"_Very good," Swiftrunner said, trying to think. He would not have chosen this particular wolf, a loner not by choice but because everyone was afraid of him. He wasn't cruel or sadistic, but, well... Recently another male had stepped on his tail while he slept, and he had bitten the offender's left ear clean off._

"_I know," the young one said impatiently before Swiftrunner could think of what to say. "Secret. I'll go another way." And he turned and trotted off, evidently to circle around the den rather than be seen walking with Swiftrunner. Maybe he wouldn't be a disaster after all._

_Swiftrunner descended into their pack's den some minutes later, breaking into a loping run when he smelled the fresh kill. Dinner had begun early, and he would be missed, if he wasn't already. He slowed just outside the door and walked in calmly. Only a few heads glanced up, thank the Lady. He strode up to a fine elk, already half-eaten, which meant Red Fang and his friends were done and it was safe for him to approach._

_One of his own men, a shaggy gray named Daystalker, skittered out of his way, instinctively yielding the meat to his chosen Alpha. A mistake. Everyone froze, the atmosphere suddenly cold and tense._

_Red Fang sauntered over from where he'd been toying with an antler. "Daystalker, my friend, does Swiftrunner look so very much like me?" he asked in a deceptively silky tone._

"_I – I'm sorry, I didn't – he startled me, that's all." Poor Daystalker cringed and flattened himself to the floor, the palace filling with the scent of his fear, sharp and bright and intoxicating._

"_It's my fault, Alpha, I bumped into him and startled him," Swiftrunner cut in. "You know how nervous he is."_

"_He's not nervous, he's submissive," Red Fang said gently, as though correcting a puppy. "And he knew you were there, and he yielded to you. You! Where have you all been?" His voice rose to a shout. "And how **stupid** do you think I am? Blackpaw, keep everyone back. Anyone moves, kill them."_

_The enforcers nodded and ranged themselves in a circle around the cowering Daystalker, shoving all the onlookers away – whether horrified or excited, everyone was watching._

_Red Fang bent over Daystalker's head and whispered, "I want to know who else is involved. I'll find out eventually, so there's no use trying to be brave." He laughed, an ugly sound that cut off abruptly. "Especially since we all know you're not."_

Yes, he is_, Swiftrunner thought, then was ashamed of his momentary pride. He did not deserve this man's loyalty, not when he planned to sit here and watch him die._

_If Swiftrunner attacked, he would be killed, and all his men with him when they tried to defend him, for they were still badly outnumbered even with the new young male. But if he let Red Fang beat that poor man to death, he might give up for now, thinking that Daystalker would never have kept his silence if he was lying. Perhaps he would imprison Swiftrunner while he thought about what to do with him. Either way would at least keep the others alive, and their dreams with them. _

_He flinched as blood spattered across his face. His wolf struggled against its bonds, demanding to protect its packmate, howling and shrieking until, blessedly, it drowned out the dreadful wet sounds._

"_Who else?" Red Fang bellowed again. _

_Daystalker coughed up a tooth that clicked as it fell to the stone floor. He struggled to speak, and the Alpha stilled in eager anticipation. "Your... mother," Daystalker spat, and grinned at the descending claws._

_Swiftrunner sprang. _

_He struck the Alpha in the shoulder and they were both rolling across the floor before any of his men could react. Then the den erupted in howls and snarling, an indistinct background as every fiber of his being was focused on survival._

_He tore long, deep gashes across Red Fang's shoulder in his first desperate attack, but now the bigger male's size and extensive experience began to show. Swiftrunner's found himself fighting just to stay on his feet, the Alpha grinning wildly with battle fever and forcing him to give ground again and again. His tail brushed against the wall and Red Fang roared with triumph and pounced._

_Swiftrunner ducked and launched himself off the wall, under the grasping claws, skidding painfully across the floor before rolling to his feet behind his enemy. Red Fang bared his teeth, almost pouting at having his kill ruined, as he spun to face him again - too late. Swiftrunner's jaws closed on his neck and tore out his Alpha's throat._

_Panting, bleeding from scratches all over, Swiftrunner shook himself free of the clinging dead body and began to turn and try to join the rest of the battle. He had an impression of complete bloody chaos before Blackpaw tackled him at full speed and smashed him into the wall. The back of his head smacked against the stone and he hung limp as Blackpaw seized him by the neck. He had a bad grip, though, and was far too angry to let go and get a better one, so he settled for worrying Swiftrunner like a rabbit until his head struck the wall a second time and the world went black._

_..._

_A squeal, a horrible tearing sound, a thud as a body was thrown across the room, and then silence broken only by a man's ragged panting and a faint _drip...drip...drip_ of liquid on the stone floor. Swiftrunner tried to focus, almost afraid to see what had happened to his pack._

_At last he steeled himself and forced his eyes open. He lay slumped against the wall, Blackpaw's corpse sprawled across his lap with a huge hole where the back of his neck should be. Someone had bitten right through his spine. His gaze traveled slowly across the floor, past the bodies of wolf after wolf, shattered and broken._

_The rangy young werewolf crouched alone in the carnage, soaked in gore until he looked black in the gloom, blood trickling down his fur and forming a puddle beneath him with a steady _drip...drip...drip._ His ragged breathing filled the room; everyone else had backed away from him and watched in awed silence._

_Swiftrunner pushed the corpse off his lap and struggled to his feet, and the bloodied man's wolf stared out at him with baleful yellow eyes, trembling. _

_Swiftrunner's brain was still sluggish, so only now did the truth sink in: He was Alpha. They had won. And that made this young man's fate his responsibility. He drew himself up with all the authority he could muster, strode forward and, as the wolf's trembling became a violent shiver, he gently but firmly took the gory head between his jaws._

_With a final, convulsive tremor, the rangy male collapsed as his wolf willingly surrendered to its Alpha, and Swiftrunner breathed a sigh of intense relief that his first action as Alpha would not be an execution. He felt suddenly very weak and sick, and his head pounded._

"_Alpha," the young man whispered, and flattened his ears, too exhausted for anything more._

"_Alpha," echoed the pack. They dropped to the ground as one, and Swiftrunner passed his gaze over them all, noting with pleasure that Gatekeeper and most of his men had survived the coup, and in the rear, Sundancer glowed._

_Swiftrunner knew he would have to talk to everyone individually, receive their personal oaths and make his own to take Sundancer as mate, but first things first. He nudged the male at his feet gently and told him, "You can't be my Striker if you don't have a name, you know. Pick one. You've earned it."_

_His eyes widened at the offer, tears of gratitude shining in their corners, and after a moment of labored thought, he said, "My name is Firetooth."_

* * *

"Come play with us!" begged a small, black-haired boy, tugging on the unnamed male's hand.

He shook himself free irritably. "Not now. I'm thinking."

"But you make up all the best games," the black-haired boy wheedled, then had an idea. "What are you thinking about? Maybe I can help. Then we can play."

"I need a present for a girl. What should I get?"

The boy snorted. "Well_ I_ don't know. _I'm_ not a girl. Ask Clearwater."

"That's a great idea. I'll do that." The older boy jumped up at once and made for the barn door, his supplicant trailing after him.

Clearwater was leaning against a tree beside a bucket full of soapy water, idly twirling some of her pale hair around her finger. The older boy looked into the bucket, momentarily distracted. "What are you doing?"

"Washing diapers," she said, frowning slightly as she tried to braid the lock of hair the way Leliana had showed them.

"But you're just sitting there."

"What do _you_ know about washing diapers? Maybe they need to soak, ever think of that?"

"Do they?"

She sighed and sat up. "No."

He watched her working the cloths in the warm water for a few minutes until he remembered why he was there. "I need a present for a girl. What would you like, if someone were to give you a present?"

She thought about it, absently pushing her hair behind her ear and leaving a trail of bubbles across her cheek. "Something good to eat, I guess. Or something pretty."

"Ooh!" The little black-haired boy bounced up and down with excitement. "Something pretty that you can also eat! Like a shiny fish!"

Clearwater nodded. "I'd like a fish."

"Great! Thanks so much," the older boy said, hugging her. Then he trotted off into the woods.

"Hey!" the little black-haired boy called after him. "At least wait until morning! ...Ah, sod, there he goes."

"Leliana says that's a bad word," Clearwater said unconcernedly, and the boy huffed indignantly and stalked off to find other entertainment.


	13. First Steps

"Nightsong, will you leave us?" Swiftrunner asked politely.

She tore her eyes away from the back of her mate's bowed head and fled. Even though she knew Swiftrunner would hurt her mate, and she would have given anything to hold him and comfort him, she fled into the barn and covered her ears rather than hear the sharp sound of breaking bone.

He thought he was sparing her the distress of watching Firetooth's punishment. But if that had been his real reason, she wouldn't have gone – she'd have said _No thank you, I prefer to stay_. No, he sent her away so Firetooth would not be shamed and humiliated in front of his mate.

As if it mattered! As if accepting the consequences of his actions was shameful! As if she weren't strong enough to be strong for him... Instead she was metaphorically patted on the head and told to run along now, there's a sweet thing, don't you worry your pretty little head, when all along it was _their_ weakness they wanted to hide. The Lady forbid that they ever admit something was wrong, that she try to help, that she ever _do_ _anything_ -

Warden Latitia came in, white and trembling, and began stacking food on a plate for Warden Alistair. Not in itself remarkable, the sort of thing any female should do, to bring food after it was all over. But that wasn't all she'd done.

_She_ had _protected_ her mate. _She_ had attacked Firetooth and shouted at Swiftrunner, _and_ lived to tell the tale!

If she could do it, then so could Nightsong. Not the same way, of course, she didn't even have a knife and anyway she didn't want to hurt anybody when really Firetooth was in the wrong, but the consequences might not end with Swiftrunner's punishment. The Wardens might be angry. They might even try to exact revenge.

So she ran up to Warden Latitia and made herself small and submissive, crouching low to the ground, and begged her for mercy.

* * *

"And I hope you all learned something important today," Wynne concluded her speech by summing up her important points. "That human society has laws, both political and moral, and that you as humans must abide by them or face the consequences. That violence, in particular, is heavily regulated and only allowed on the battlefield..."

Gatekeeper had been wrong, Wynne wasn't done yet. His packmates were good listeners, alert and attentive, but even they had limits and the youngest were beginning to squirm and surreptitiously poke each other. He scowled at a pair of boys making faces at each other in the back row, and they hunched their shoulders apologetically, directing their gaze back to the elder.

Firetooth wasn't back yet from wherever he'd gone to lick his wounds. Gatekeeper hoped he would come back soon enough that setting the bone wouldn't be too difficult. A few others were absent, too, specifically Sundancer and Clearwater and the babies, and the older adolescent male he'd been watching.

The boy had been gone a lot lately. When he came back this time, Gatekeeper would ask where he'd been. He was almost old enough to start causing problems with the pack hierarchy, especially as an uncommonly handsome and charismatic young man, the sort of person others trust without knowing why. He must not get the idea that he was above the rules and could come and go entirely as he pleased.

Wanderlust came upon them for many reasons, most of them transient but none of them good – boredom, unhappiness, discontent, sometimes deliberate insubordination – and it was Gatekeeper's job to manage these things before they became a problem big enough to bother the Alpha. That was what being a Gatekeeper meant, to be a screen, an intermediary who took care of all the minor issues of managing a pack full of violent and aggressive werewolves, allowing the Alpha to save himself and his authority for when it was truly needed. Like it had been today.

Oh, it looked like Wynne really was done with her lecture now. The young ones jumped up in a pack and ran outside at once, and Gatekeeper followed. He pulled the knotted piece of rope off the hook where he'd hung it and swung it over his head to catch their attention.

"Ready?" he called, and there was a chorus of excited affirmation.

He pretended to throw the rope, sending the overeager off in the wrong direction, and then actually threw it the opposite way so one of the smaller boys could catch it. The boy squealed with excitement and took off at once with his prize, darting back and forth through the rail fence to avoid his pursuers. Gatekeeper watched for a few minutes to make sure the game had taken hold; sometimes he had to throw the rope around a few more times before they really got settled into playing with it, but evidently not tonight.

He went back inside, secure in the knowledge that their young would burn off their pent-up energy safely and come to bed good and tired when it grew too dark to play anymore. Wynne passed him on her way out, talking to Nightsong.

"Broke his arm? How barbaric!" Wynne shook her head in disapproval. "Certainly I will see to him at once."

"Thank you so much, Mistress Wynne," Nightsong fawned unashamedly. "That means so much to me. And thank you for all your advice, you are so wise and..."

Her voice faded off as they left the barn, and he rolled his eyes at Nightsong's behavior. Well, he could hardly blame her, could he? Females had little enough power, so small and gentle and delicate. They had to use the tools available to them, their soft voices and their beauty.

He shuddered and broke into a jog until he reached the dinner tables, throwing himself into the labor of cleanup before he thought too long about one particular voice, and soon enough the babble of his packmates drowned her out.

* * *

Fishing without claws was proving devilishly difficult. The unnamed young man had found fish all right, in the very nice, clear, fast river that poured down from Mount Drakon (even mountains have names!), but they slipped effortlessly between his fingers and flashed their rainbow scales at him mockingly.

He eventually hit upon the most excellent idea of using his shirt as a sort of scoop, and, by positioning himself near a short waterfall and waiting for the trout to leap through it, he caught not one but _eight_ of the brilliantly shiny fish. After the first one flopped its way back into the stream, he put the rest out of their misery by smacking their heads against a flat stone.

"No more of that," he told the limp fish in his hand. It didn't reply.

With a worried glance at the sun climbing higher in the sky, he gathered his bounty up in his shirt, tying the sleeves over it securely, and set off for the farm. Navigating without his nose would have been difficult, except that the dairy barn smelled so strongly that he could scent it on the wind from a quarter-mile away. His heart began to flutter in his breast as he neared what he now thought of as _her_ barn.

The cows were gone, though, their brown rumps disappearing over the hill as they returned to their pasture, their morning milking complete. The farmer and his son followed along, herding them gently though the cows seemed to know where they were going.

He bolted for the barn before they could turn around and notice him. _She_ wasn't there, though, and he wandered around the inside for several minutes before a rhythmic sloshing sound drew him to a small outbuilding.

_There_ she was. His angel.

That same dog was with her again. Probably it was _her_ dog. At any rate, it noticed him and huffed, a warning sound. _She _looked up from the odd sort of barrel contraption that she was working on, pulling a plunger up and down and making that sloshing sound.

"What are you doing here again?" she demanded. "You're lucky Papa and Dovid ain't here."

"I wanted to see you," he said.

She frowned, cocking her head to look at him as though she didn't quite believe him. One of her glossy curls had come free of its kerchief and dangled so it just brushed her cheek. It was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen, and he tightened his grip on his pouch of fish so he wouldn't reach for her and frighten her away. She noticed and asked, "What've you got there?"

He'd almost forgotten. "Uh... Fish. I went fishing," he stammered, feeling himself blush. "They're for you. If you want them? Do you like fish?" He opened the pouch to show her the mass of silver and rainbows.

"Well you can't bring fish in here, they'll make all the butter smell like fish," she scolded, and she pulled him outside and across to a smaller building that poured smoke. It smelled delicious, and he hadn't had any breakfast, and any other time he would really care about that, but her tiny fingers blazed like fire on his arm and he couldn't feel anything else.

"You can put them in the smoker," she said, pointing.

"You want them?" he blurted out, thrilled.

"Um," she hesitated. "Yes? Thank you. I'm sorry, I never got a gift from a boy before and this is... different."

She looked at her hand resting on the smooth muscle of his arm, and quickly let go, blushing. He sighed, feeling bereft, and pushed open the door to dump his load of fish. Then he saw there were a few other fish in there already, laid neatly on some wooden slats, so he rearranged his fish the same way.

She was watching him work, and when he straightened up and caught her staring, she blushed even brighter and looked down at her clogs, clasping her hands behind her back.

_Now what?_ he wondered. He had no idea.

"Um," he said. They were both saying a lot of _um_. "So... What were you doing? Before."

"Making butter," she said very quietly.

"Can I see?" he asked, genuinely interested. Leliana had not quite explained the making of cheese and butter to his satisfaction.

She glanced up, forgetting to be shy in her surprise. "But you're a boy!"

"So?"

"_So_, girls make butter. That's a girl's job. Cheese, too." She lifted her head, clearly proud of her important job. She should be, too. Butter was delicious. He told her so, making her blush again, and she took him into the dairy to show him how the churn worked.

She let him taste the finished butter, too, and it was the best butter ever. Then he watched her squeeze out the buttermilk and form the butter into blocks. Sometimes the molds shifted while she scooped the butter into them, so she frowned and struggled not to spill. He offered to help hold the molds steady for her. This caused her mouth to make that incredibly adorable surprised O, but she let him help and it went more quickly.

"Normally now I would cook the buttermilk and add acid to get the last bits out of it, for soft cheese," she said while he was placing the last block of butter on a shelf. She let him do it because he was taller, and didn't have to stand on the stool to reach.

He wiped his hands on a clean towel. "Can I help?"

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. "You're not like any boy I've ever met."

He flushed and looked down at the clean wooden floor. He didn't know what to say – _I was a werewolf until two weeks ago_ didn't sound good, even in his own head. Finally he just said, "I'm sorry. I just like you so much."

"I think I like you, too," she said softly.

His heart pounded and he glanced up at her, terrified he might have misunderstood, but she was looking at him, _really_ looking, and not afraid of him at all. For an instant he just stared at her while the world swirled around him.

"Hon? Ain't you done yet? I need help with lunch!" A woman's voice drifted out from the farmhouse, and she flinched.

"I have to go," she whispered, and reluctantly turned to obey her summons.

He bounded forward without thinking and caught her arm. Startled, she turned her face up to him and started to ask what he was about, and he covered her mouth with his own.

She squeaked in surprise and he circled his arms around her before she could run away, just barely checking the impulse to crush her tightly against him and never let go. He knew he was clumsy and he tried to be gentler, and maybe it worked because she kissed him back.

Then she pulled away and he bit back a groan of disappointment as she said, "You never asked my name."

He struggled to think, and said hoarsely, "I assumed you didn't have one. I don't."

"You need a name," she said sternly. "I don't care how they do things in that barbarian forest you came from, around here people have names. Mine is Lily."

Pick a name _now_? He was lucky to still be standing upright, much less choosing an intelligent and appropriate name. He gave up and asked her instead, since she seemed to want one so much. "Would you give me one?"

"Will," she said at once. "That's my favorite boys' name. I have to go – goodbye, Will."

Then she was gone, and for the longest moment it was all he could manage not to chase her, standing stiff and trembling in the dairy until he trusted his legs again.

* * *

_Finally, a willing audience for Wynne and her lectures. She's on cloud nine for sure!_

_Please accept my heartfelt thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think. Even bad things – especially bad things! How will I know unless you tell me? :)_


	14. Enchantment

Nightsong scooped up more water from the riverbed and let it sluice through her fingers and over her mate's neck to wash off the last bit of blood from the cut on his throat. He rolled his shoulders, settling the tired muscles.

"It really doesn't hurt anymore."He prodded his healed arm again. "I don't think Swiftrunner will like that. It's not much of a punishment if I go and get it fixed an hour later."

"Wynne insisted, and Swiftrunner said we are to obey all the Wardens," Nightsong said virtuously. She was still flush with victory after getting a promise of non-retribution from Warden Latitia and then convincing Wynne to heal his arm, and more than a little pleased with herself.

"True." He fidgeted on the rounded stones, never one to sit still for long. "I'm hungry. Let's go back."

"Okay."

She got up and started making her way back through the dark strip of forest that bordered the river. Behind her she heard him stand, slowly, and then melt into silence: He was stalking her.

"Stop that." She walked a little faster. "I'm not a rabbit."

"It's not like I have anything better to hunt," he said from somewhere off to her left. She glanced in his direction and saw nothing but trees.

She was _not_ frightened. She was his _mate_. She would _not_ run.

He growled, a soft and eager sound, closer.

"You're such a puppy!" she snapped.

"Call me a _puppy_, will you?"

He hurtled out of the last shadows before she made it to the safety of the barn's pool of lamplight, tackling her about the waist and bringing her down - but then he twisted in midair, so she fell on top of him, unhurt.

She yelped and struggled, complaining, "I'm not a toy, you beast! And anyway, you said you were hungry."

"I didn't say what I was hungry _for_," he purred. "And I have this freshly-fixed arm, all good as new. Be a shame not to use it, hmm?"

He nuzzled behind her ear and she giggled, then elbowed him in the ribs and wriggled free. He growled again and caught her ankle before she got away, pinned her down and tickled her mercilessly.

"Not fair! I don't have fur," she gasped.

"Neither do I, it's totally fair."

"You're bigger!"

"You're cuter." He found the place by her ribs that had been ticklish even before the Change and she squealed.

"Ah! Mercy!" she cried. "You win!"

"I _love_ winning," he grinned, and scooped her up in his arms.

* * *

The Wardens returned from their trip to Denerim while Gatekeeper was away from the barn, sitting alone by a watering hole full of cows, who stood knee-deep in the green water and chewed meditatively on weeds pulled up from its bottom. He had fled the barn when the closeness and noise of his pack had abruptly become too much for him, as it sometimes did. Less often, though, as years passed.

He stood up from the rich grass at the pond's bank, and the cows lifted their heads in mild curiosity. It was strange to be near them like this, to see them go about their business unafraid, when they used to run bawling in terror as soon as they scented the wolf. He paused when a calf thrust her nose out at him to sniff, and reached out to touch the velvety muzzle with his fingertips. She responded by sticking out her shockingly long tongue, and leaving his entire hand smeared with greenish slobber.

"Thanks," he said dryly, and she flicked her tufted tail as though to say _Don't mention it_.

He returned to the barn in time for lunch and grabbed a sandwich from the rapidly shrinking mound set out for them all by the pack's females. He took a big bite and his mouth was still full when Swiftrunner approached and told him, "We're leaving after lunch, to make some headway on the road before nightfall. The Wardens are in a big hurry – something about some ashes and a man named Genitivi."

Gatekeeper swallowed quickly and asked, "But they are still taking us to Redcliffe, aren't they?"

Swiftrunner nodded. "They say it's on the way and won't be a problem. Still, we should try not to slow them down. We don't want them to give up and leave us behind. I'm relying on their introductions to the Redcliffe Alpha, and we are already _more_ than indebted to them. So once you're done eating, go and get everyone moving, all right?"

Gatekeeper ducked his head respectfully and wolfed down the rest of his lunch before rounding up his packmates. A few were missing; he found three of the young upstairs, having dug themselves a den in the hay, and two more trying to coax one of the farmer's dogs into fetching a stick. At last he had everyone together except the older boy that had been missing so much lately, and he was standing in the barn doorway and scratching his head when the boy came around the corner at a run, flushed and sweating.

"I'm sorry I'm late for lunch, ser," he said to Gatekeeper's scowl.

"You aren't just late for lunch, you've been running off the entire time we've been here," the older man said sternly. "Where have you been?"

The boy blushed even brighter, until Gatekeeper wondered if his chestnut hair would burst into flames. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I ... was fishing," he said desperately.

Gatekeeper grabbed him by the back of the neck and hauled him around behind the barn for privacy, before shoving him up against the shingled wall and spearing him with a glare. "Try again, the whole story this time, and do _not_ test my patience. The Wardens want to leave within the hour and you will _not_ be the reason we are all left behind."

The color drained from the boy's face, unevenly so it formed interesting splotches, like blood in the snow. "Leaving?"

Gatekeeper snorted. "You knew we were only to stay here until the Wardens finished their errand in Denerim."

"I don't want to," he blurted. "I want to stay here. Please let me stay here."

"What? No!" Gatekeeper restrained himself from shouting in his surprise. "Whyever would you want to stay?"

"Because I _love_ her," the boy wailed, and threw himself to the ground to hug Gatekeeper's knees and beg. "Please don't tell our Alpha. Please let me stay."

Gatekeeper peeled the boy off his legs and sat down next to him, trying to contain his shock. "Who's 'her'? Actually, never mind. That doesn't matter. I won't tell Swiftrunner, but-"

"Thank you so much," the boy cried, trying to hug him again, and this time Gatekeeper just sighed and let the pup bury his head in his shoulder. Sometimes the younger ones were like that, so starved for contact when their restless wolves kept them isolated for most of their lives.

"But it doesn't matter," Gatekeeper went on. "I'm not going to let you stay here. Never mind that you don't have permission to choose a mate-"

"But she's not pack, I don't need permission, she doesn't belong to our Alpha if she's not pack, right?" the boy interrupted, lifting his tear-streaked face in hope.

"Huh." Gatekeeper considered that for a moment. "I would have to ask him. But even that doesn't matter. You don't love her."

"Yes I _do_! She's _perfect_!"

"I know it _feels_ like you do." Gatekeeper sighed and pulled the boy closer, rubbing his back. "It feels like nothing else matters and the whole world sings for you both. But you're just having your first crush, that's all. When you really love someone, you'll know."

"But I _feel_ like I know _now_," the boy insisted.

"You'll know. It'll be different. Just... trust me, all right? It'll be different." Gatekeeper tightened his arms around him and for a moment, the boy wasn't the only one drawing comfort from simple contact.

He took a steadying breath and added, "Not every young male goes through this – most of them, their wolves don't let them go until they're older than you are, and calmer – but some do, and this is why we make the young males wait until the Alpha thinks they're ready to mate. So they don't have to go through what you're going through now."

"It sucks," the boy muttered.

"Yes. Yes, it does. But it'll get better, I promise." Gatekeeper pulled away and helped the younger man to his feet. "Right now, though, we have to get going. Stay busy, that helps."

"I didn't really say goodbye, either," the boy said miserably.

_Neither did I_.

* * *

Sundancer struggled to get all her bags together and loaded into the wagon as quickly as possible so she could climb in herself and start feeding her sons. Two of them were howling lustily, waving their pink fists and grimacing in a very compact display of fury. The third was in Clearwater's arms, and the girl watched her mistress anxiously.

"I can take one," she offered.

"No." _Mine. _She would hold all three if she could, but only two fit in the carrying sling Wynne had rigged for her.

She looked around frantically for the baby bottle's missing nipple. She'd cleaned it, and then hung it up to dry, and... And then she put it... Someplace. Oh, it was in her pocket.

Swiftrunner strode past talking to Gatekeeper about some forest-floor idiocy that was _clearly_ more important than helping her with their children. And the Lady only knew where Nightsong was. Packing her own stuff, probably.

Another female, Blossom, drifted over to watch.

Baby One hiccupped, and promptly spat up on himself.

"How did you do that on an empty stomach!" Sundancer demanded of him. She dropped her bags in the dust and knelt, looking for a rag to wipe his face. Her hair fell across the sling and Baby Three grabbed a fistful and pulled. "Ow! Ow ow ow... Come on, baby, let go of mama," she hissed as she had to stop what she was doing _again_ and extract her hair.

Blossom spoke suddenly to Clearwater, her words ringing with authority. "Give me the baby. Then help your mistress."

Clearwater obeyed her elder instinctively, and Sundancer didn't fully process what had just happened until the girl knelt beside her and began to wipe Baby One's face clean.

"What are you – Where's my baby?" she demanded, and the girl pointed at Blossom.

"He's safe with me," Blossom said. She held the sleeping infant pressed against her chest as though trying to get as close to him as possible. There was something ... _off_ about her eyes. Too wide, too intent.

"Give him back," Sundancer said quietly.

"You have those two to take care of. I'll take care of him." Her arms were so tense, the veins stood out on the backs of her hands, though she held the baby gently.

Sundancer went cold. She remembered Blossom's reaction when her own pregnancy had been announced. Her naked pain, the way she had turned away and curled in on herself in silent heartbreak. Blossom was her yearmate, and only blind chance had rendered her sterile and Sundancer fertile; at her age, if Blossom hadn't had her moon flow yet, then she never would. She gently laid the carrying sling on the ground and stood up to meet Blossom's wide, longing eyes.

"He is _mine_," she growled, with all the authority the Alpha's mate could muster.

"It's not fair," Blossom whispered. "It's not fair that you have three and I don't even have one. Please, I – I just want to hold him a while longer - please-"

Blossom's words broke off into a sob as Sundancer pried the clinging fingers off her son. As she pulled him away, Blossom lunged after her, wailing and begging. Nausea rose in Sundancer's throat and she snatched up her babies and bolted for the wagon.

...

Sundancer had pushed aside several boxes and made a sort of nest for herself where she could keep all three of her sons together. Her hands shook as she tried to tie a diaper, and she paused for a long moment, feeling the steady sway of the wagon and hearing the rhythmic clopping of the mules' hooves, their occasional soft whickering, until the moment of panic passed.

All her babies were safe. All her babies were right here, and content, and safe, and hers. She finished tying the diaper and leaned back against a sack of grain.

Sandal climbed into the wagon from where he normally rode beside his father. He made his way steadily to his trunk full of odd tools and devices, and pulled out an amulet. He held it out to show to her.

"Enchantment?" he asked.

Sundancer just shrugged, not sure what to say to that.

"Yes, Sandal, if you like," Bodahn called back. "Enchantment. What do you think? Anti-fire amulet?"

Sandal pursed his lips, and, looking at Sundancer with a conspiratorial air, slowly shook his head. Then he knelt by his trunk and spent the rest of the morning generating odd smells as he worked his own brand of magic.

When they stopped for the night, Sandal jumped up and pushed past her to clamber out the front again, waving the amulet enthusiastically. "Enchantment," he announced.

"What did you make, boyo?" Bodahn peered at the amulet clutched in the younger dwarf's hand and frowned. "That's the rune for _mother_. And you added an amplification rune, too?" He shook his head. "I've never seen _that_ before. I don't know if it will do anything. Was this just an experiment?"

Sandal shook his head and set his jaw. He jumped down from the wagon tongue and hurried across the grassy area that would be their night's camp, running directly toward Blossom, who sat pale and withdrawn in the shadows at the edge of camp.

"Enchantment," he said firmly, and thrust the amulet out to her.

* * *

_Almost to Redcliffe! According to my outline we're about a third of the way through the story._

_Please accept my humble thanks for your time and energy spent reading my work. All feedback is enthusiastically welcome, especially negative feedback since if you don't tell me, how will I know? :) I also do listen to requests and will happily make adjustments if people tell me they like or dislike a given storyline or character._


	15. Duality

_A/N – the opinions herein are those of the characters, and not my own. These werewolves aren't the most gender-liberated bunch, and Morrigan's not much better. It's sexism all the way down._

* * *

Firetooth pushed the soggy oatmeal around in his bowl, watching the Warden pack dynamic from beneath the canvas flap of his tent. Drizzling rain collected in the flap's crease and dripped steadily past his face, and he shifted a little farther back to get away from it, ignoring Nightsong's growl of complaint when he bumped into her.

"You haven't had enough to eat," the female Warden was saying, pushing the half-finished bowl of oatmeal back into Alistair's lap.

"I'm not all that hungry, really," he muttered. The man had been sulky ever since returning from Denerim.

"You'll make me worry," the female warned. She sat down beside him and leaned on his arm, making great big soppy eyes at him. "And if I worry, then I may fuss. I may even cry. You wouldn't want _that_."

"Now you're not playing fair," Alistair said, but smiled a little and prodded his oatmeal with a spoon.

"Fine, then I'll play fair." She stood up and planted her hand so her hips, glaring down at him. "Eat your oatmeal right this instant, soldier. That's an order! Don't you roll your eyes at me – pick that spoon up!"

"Will you look at that," Firetooth said to his own mate, their conversation made private by the tent and the drumming of the rain on its canvas. "What a pansy. What a lousy alpha."

"Swiftrunner is better," Nightsong said loyally. "But I think they're just playing."

"I don't know why she looks at Alistair like that," he went on as though she hadn't spoken. "He's not all that impressive. I could take him."

"You shouldn't even think about that. You could have been killed if I hadn't brought Swiftrunner when you attacked -" She faltered, realizing she had said more than she meant to, and he rounded on her instantly.

"_You_ told the Alpha on me?" he demanded.

"I was scared you'd be killed," she whispered, hunching her shoulders.

"I was fine," he snapped. "It's not _your_ job to protect _me_. Especially not from some tiny little _girl_."

"She had a knife to your throat!" she flared.

"So you went to the Alpha? You're _my_ mate, you don't go running to other men for help, you come to _me_," he snarled. He felt his color rising – he resented that he needed his mate to rescue him. No, he resented that _his mate thought_ he needed rescuing. It was humiliating!

"And how am I supposed to go to _you_ for help when _you're_ the one who causes trouble?" She hugged herself as she started to tremble, but her eyes snapped with defiance. "Was I supposed to just watch while you destroy all our futures by starting a war with the Warden pack?"

That hadn't occurred to him. "We don't need them," he growled sullenly to cover the sharp stab of guilt.

"We do, we can't-"

"No, we don't! We got on fine before they came along! So what if we didn't have clothes and – and hands, and knives, and armor! We had fur and claws and fangs and the forest was _ours_! _Nothing_ is ours now!"

He surged to his feet, unable to sit any longer, and knocked over his bowl of oatmeal. "And this _slop_ is _not_ food!" he shouted, hurled the bowl as far across the camp as he could, and stalked out of the tent and away.

He broke into a run, his blood boiling with pent-up energy, and ran in a straight line until he couldn't hear the surprised babble of his packmates anymore. Then he let his path curve slightly so it would eventually bring him back around in a circle, and he wouldn't get lost with his damned stupid human nose that was totally useless for anything, including finding his way home.

The tall grass and bracken brushed against his legs and soon soaked through his trousers, so they clung to his skin unpleasantly. He remembered running four-footed and how the wet leaves would glide over his fur and cool his paws.

Was he really a – a _drain_ on the pack? The Lady knew, he had some sharp edges, more than most. He had stood the silence of his pack his whole life, conversations hushed as he walked by and his company refused again and again until he stopped asking, and borne it because his Alpha and his mate believed in him. He had been sure the others respected him as a dangerous predator, given himself to Swiftrunner to use as a weapon, and believed – really believed – that Nightsong was impressed with him and happy as his mate.

Inside his head there was no answering howl, no arrogant prowling beast to assure him it would never let their mate get away from them. There was only his thoughts, and his fears, and his weakness.

* * *

"You should tell him you're sorry, as soon as he comes back," Clearwater advised. She adjusted the squirming baby boy in her arms and placed him against her shoulder, patting his back. He startled himself with a burp. "Good baby," Clearwater told him, and gave him another pat.

"Don't tell him you're sorry, you're _not_ sorry," Sundancer said firmly. "You did the right thing by running for Swiftrunner when things went bad. Take him back to your tent instead, he'll forget all about being angry."

"She still shouldn't have disagreed with him like that," Clearwater said. "Men don't like that."

"Of course they don't, nobody does. Are you all done, baby? Yes?" Sundancer put down the baby she'd been nursing and began to lace up her dress. "Anyway. Speaking of babies, only a baby throws his food away mid-tantrum and storms off."

Nightsong sniffled again and cuddled the third baby closer against her breast. "He's _not_ a baby. It's my fault for making him mad."

"It most certainly is not," Morrigan's sharp voice cut in abruptly, and the little cluster of women turned to look up at her as she walked past with her hands full of herbs, the morning's successful hunt. "All men are weak children who cannot stand to have their fragile egos bruised. If they were truly the stronger sex, they would not feel such constant need to promote themselves."

"But they _are_ stronger," Nightsong pointed out. "And bigger, and fiercer."

The witch snorted. "Physical power is the weakest form of strength. And consider which is more feared, the father bear or the mother? Even a mother mouse will attack a lion to defend its nest."

"Only because the mouse father doesn't stay beside her," Nightsong argued. "The stag defends his doe, and so does the male wolf."

"He defends his territory against _other males_, yes," Morrigan replied. "But when the lynx strikes directly at the den, who is there to stop her?"

"If the lynx gets to the den, that's the males' failure, not the females' strength," Nightsong disagreed. Behind her, Leliana and Latitia wandered over to see what the fuss was about, Alistair trailing after them.

"So if the males are meant to lay down their lives in defense of the females," Morrigan said, with an air of triumph as though making a killer point, "then which of those two has the greater power over the other?"

"I think you've lost me," Clearwater said with a frown.

"She's talking about her tits, mostly. They are a force of nature," Warden Latitia said, grinning. Warden Alistair immediately turned bright red and tilted his face up to stare fixedly at the clouds.

Morrigan tossed her head proudly. "Men are merely a tool, and more trouble than they are worth to keep. I have never had a mate, and I never intend to. When I have... _needs_, I shall choose which man I like, and when I am done with him, I shall toss him aside."

"Oh, _that's_ a recipe for domestic bliss," Warden Alistair said, still glowering at the clouds. "What about love?"

"If I want love, I shall get a puppy," Morrigan snapped, and stalked away to finish doing her herb magic.

"Alistair, you're ruining their girl talk," Latitia scolded mildly, and shooed him away. Then she pulled a jar of Morrigan's magic healing goop out of her pack and whispered to the other women, "Watch."

Nightsong watched in bemusement as Latitia waved the jar, calling, "Alistair, wait! I can't get this jar open. You're so much stronger than I am, would you open it for me?"

"Of course." He twisted the wax-sealed cork out of the jar, keeping a surreptitious eye on Latitia to make sure she noticed how _easy_ it was for the Mighty Warrior. "There you go."

"Thank you, Alistair," she cooed, and as they walked back to their own campfire she looked back over her shoulder at Nightsong and winked.

"Oh," Clearwater said. "That's what you meant."

Leliana laughed and sat down to join their circle, tickling Baby Three's toes.

"Leliana," Nightsong asked tentatively, "What do _you_ think I should do? About my mate, I mean. He's angry with me."

"First of all, I would not call him _mate_," the redhead replied, and shifted around behind her, producing a comb from somewhere on her person to begin combing Nightsong's hair. "Humans get married and call each other husband and wife. As to your real question, you should follow your heart, of course. But personally? I have always found men to be rather overrated."

The other women giggled, scandalized, but Nightsong zeroed in on the new word. "Where can I find married?"

"Oh, it's not a thing, it's a state of being," Leliana explained, and described for them all a lovely and romantic sequence of events involving jewelry, blessings from their new human God, a gorgeous dress and a huge party. "And after that, you call him your husband and you are his wife, and you own a home together and so forth."

"That sounds nice," Clearwater said wistfully. "I would like to feel special, even if just for a day."

"You are special, sweetie," Leliana told her and patted her on the head. Then she wrinkled her nose at the baby in Clearwater's arms. "I think this little one needs changing – You aren't still calling him Baby Two, are you? Haven't you named him yet?"

"Of course not," Sundancer said, affronted. She dug around in her pack and pulled out a clean diaper and towels, laying them out neatly. She was getting the hang of this.

"You should," Leliana advised as she helped cushion the squirming infant's head from the hard ground. "Human mothers name their babies. Your sons can always pick new names later."

"Oh," Sundancer said uncertainly. "But I don't know what to call them."

"You'll think of something," Leliana assured her.

* * *

Firetooth trailed along far behind his pack all that day, and slouched into their camp after dark to avoid having to talk to anyone.

"You okay?"

So much for that. He shrugged, his fists bunching. "I'm not dead yet."

Daystalker nodded. "She's in your tent. South edge of camp."

Firetooth considered pretending he didn't care, but decided against it and dropped heavily to the ground beside his friend. The older man silently handed him a chunk of cured sausage and the two of them sat together while he gnawed on the salted meat. Daystalker knew how to be quiet, a skill Firetooth appreciated more than most.

A man who doesn't talk also doesn't scold, judge, mock, or yell.

"Thanks. Goodnight." Firetooth stood and slapped Daystalker's shoulder in a friendly farewell; he winced and Firetooth was instantly ashamed of himself. That shoulder had never healed properly. "Sorry."

Daystalker shrugged in his understated way, just a tip of the head and movement of one hand. "No problem."

A light glowed softly from his tent, one of the tiny safety lanterns. He hesitated for a long moment, half-crouched in the act of reaching for the flap, until his shook himself irritably and crawled inside.

"You're back!" Nightsong cried, and started to reach for him but stopped in confusion when he didn't move.

Holy Lady, mother of wolves, by the light of the moon and the dark of the night sodding bloody hell damn it all she was sodding _gorgeous_. She could have any mate she wanted and she was stuck with a man who hurt all his friends, and who – he winced at the memory – had thrown his food across the camp like a sulky puppy. He leaned past her and blew out the lantern so he couldn't see her red-rimmed eyes.

"Honey? Do you want to-" She touched his arm hopefully and he flinched.

She caught her breath and shuffled backwards away from him, and normally he would have felt bad about that but he didn't really have room to feel any worse than he already did, so instead he curled up as far from her as he could get and pulled the blanket over his head in lieu of a tail.


	16. A New Alpha

_This chapter correlates strongly with chapter 45 in "Great Escape," and you might be interested in reading it for a different perspective on events. Here's a link (you'll have to remove the spaces of course): www. fanfiction. net/s/5875319/45/The_Great_Escape_

_As always, thank you for reading!_

* * *

Firetooth was rather proud of how they'd managed the pack's first experience with a human town. The pack (including himself, if he would be honest) had been boiling with excitement when the road crested a hill and their new home lay spread out before them, the mighty castle in the the distance standing watch over the sparkling lake and its fleet of sailboats bobbing in the breeze. Gatekeeper and Swiftrunner had taken one look at their faces, and taken immediate steps to prevent the whole pack from scattering like a flock of birds in their eagerness to explore.

They had formed them all into groups of three, pairing young ones with older, steadier ones, and led them straight up to the castle in a procession. They had made it through with a minimum of fuss, barring an incident when a few had refused to cross the great bridge, discovering at that inconvenient time that they couldn't stand heights.

He himself was, of course, perfectly comfortable and made some show of bending over the wall to peer down at the jagged rocks below. This was wasted effort, though, because nobody was looking; Nightsong was busy helping Leliana half-comfort, half-carry the hysterical Blossom across the bridge. Good luck getting her back out again, he thought, pettily resentful of the attention she was getting from _his _mate.

Now the pack milled about in the castle courtyard, craning their necks up at the battlements and towers, and irritating the guards by trying to touch and smell them. They were left standing around for almost an hour while the Wardens worked out with Bann Teagan what to do with them, and the Redcliffe men were nearing the end of their patience despite Gatekeeper's efforts to corral their pack.

"Geroffme," snapped a uniformed gate guard, punctuating his words with a sharp jab from the butt of his pike into the ribs of a young male who came too close. "Sodding animals."

The pup yelped and tripped, falling over himself in his haste to get away. Firetooth lunged, his body acting completely without thought, and he would have brought the guard down had Gatekeeper not seized the back of his leather vest and thrown him flat on the pavement with a curt gesture to _stay down_.

"What the bloody hell!" The guard scrambled away, almost dropping his pike in his haste, and the rest of the guards came running. Crossbows glinted in the sun as the archers along the walls turned to aim at a threat _inside_ their castle.

Gatekeeper stood over him with his hands in the air. "I'm sorry! It's an internal matter! I'll deal with it! There's no danger!"

"Like hell there's no danger," the guard growled, but looked less certain, adjusting his shoulder armor. "Just keep him away fromme, a'right?"

Firetooth watched from his place on the ground, beyond confused. He wouldn't have killed the guard, just taught him a lesson. The guard had _struck_ one of his packmates. He had clearly done wrong, and deserved to be corrected. Right?

Right?

By the Lady, he hoped so.

* * *

Sundancer followed her mate and the Warden pack deep into the castle's main part – the "keep," Warden Alistair had called it. She had brought Clearwater for help with the babies, but left Nightsong behind in case any more of the females had a panic attack. She was dominant enough to be a reassuring presence to them.

Their new territory's Alpha, Bann Teagan, greeted them warmly and called her mate "Commander Swiftrunner," shaking his hand exactly as they had been taught. He also kissed the back of Clearwater's hand, and then tickled the toes of the baby boy in Sundancer's arms, beaming and making cooing noises. The baby stared in wide-eyed astonishment at the new face; Sundancer smiled politely while her mind whirled at the implications of an Alpha who appreciated children. Maybe he would help protect them, too.

They settled down to eat, a venison haunch that had been cooked too long, not bloody at all. She ate it anyway; she was always hungry, and it was better than jerky. Bann Teagan used his knife and fork differently than the two Wardens did, and she tried to copy him. Then Baby Three got hungry and she unlaced her dress and began to feed him.

"Commander," Teagan said, tearing his gaze away to make very deliberate eye contact with her mate, "I would like to extend an invitation to yourself and your family to stay in the castle, for the lady's comfort. She is welcome to bring any of her helpers, or even all the women in your group. There are not so many, after all, and their comfort should be paramount."

Swiftrunner nodded slowly, mulling this over. "Yes. That would be good. This castle is much like the old Tevinter palace where we used to live, and my m – my wife will be safe here."

Sundancer looked up sharply. Lock her up in this palace with all the other women? After she had been living together with the whole pack for almost a month, he wanted her to go back to living separately again? After what _Blossom_ had done?

"I _won't_ be safe, not if all the other women are in here _with_ me," she interrupted, using his guilt over the Blossom incident. "No. I want Nightsong, Clearwater and Gatekeeper, and nobody else."

Swiftrunner rocked back in his chair, surprised at her vehemence. "I can't bring Firetooth in here," he said, indicating Teagan and the guards on the door with a flick of his eyes. "Not after," and he nodded significantly at Alistair.

"Then leave him in the barracks," she said.

"Without his mate? I can't-"

"Are you Alpha or aren't you?" she demanded. "If he can't hold onto his mate, that's his problem, not yours. I won't need Nightsong all hours of the day. She can go out to visit him whenever she likes."

He blinked. She held his eyes and refused to back down, strong in the self-confidence that came from knowing since girlhood that her place in the pack was secured. Since that first morning when she had woken up with blood on her tail, and the pack had howled their triumph to the translucent moon hanging still in the western sky, she was their most precious treasure.

She'd made little use of her power and status, though, preferring to keep her own counsel. But now she finally, _finally_ had her babies and she would be hanged before she would be locked up in a cage with a pack of thieving bitches, and she didn't care if she shocked her mate, as long as he listened to her.

"Fine, then," Swiftrunner said at last. "You, Clearwater and Nightsong and nobody else. But you have to choose, you can't have both me and Gatekeeper. That would leave Firetooth in charge."

An agreement, but also a subtle complaint. She would never choose another man over him, and he knew it, so the only reason to bring it up was to tell her _You aren't acting like a good mate right now_. She blushed and looked away, realizing she should have asked him in private, not challenged him in front of two other Alphas. "Of _course_ I want you," she said quietly.

"That's all settled, then," Teagan said with an air of relief. "Everyone else stays in the barracks for now, I take it?"

"Yes," said Swiftrunner.

"I have a number of empty houses in the town," Teagan told him. "We can see about settling your people into them, if you like."

"Perhaps tomorrow," Swiftrunner shook his head. "This is our new territory, and tonight we must be together. In fact, we should go now. It's already dark."

They excused themselves, leaving the Warden pack talking amiably with Bann Teagan and lingering over their tea, and she followed her mate as he made his careful way back through the passages and down to the barracks. She was impressed that he remembered the way with no nose, and told him so, adding, "I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I just get so – so scared, and I couldn't bear it if things went back to how they used to be and I had to stay with all the other women while you went out and -"

"Shh," he said, turning to her and pulling her forehead against his chest. She felt the babies in their carrying sling stir sleepily, reacting to the warmth and contact of his body. "No harm done, all right?"

"All right," she whispered.

He stroked her hair once before releasing her, and strode through the heavy doors of the barracks. He waved for them all to follow him and led their pack out to the castle's main courtyard, where they could see the moon.

"This is our home now," he shouted, gesturing broadly at the castle, the lake, the rolling hills and farms and all of Redcliffe. "_Our. Home._"

A ragged cheer rose from the attentive ranks of men and women, the littlest ones jumping up and down in excitement.

"So without further ado," Swiftrunner went on, moving through them to stand in their center, "let's sing!"

Throwing his head back, he drew in his breath and howled his long, descending note. Smiling, Sundancer joined him and added her birdlike counterpoint. One by one the others picked up their song until, at last, a deep, true wolf's voice rang out from beside her, and she glanced down to see Morrigan sitting on her haunches with her furred tail curled neatly around her paws, pouring her heart out at the moon.

* * *

Teagan rose before dawn that morning in anticipation of a long and weary day of labor at his writing desk. He and Eamon's seneschal would go over their tally of the dead, and attempt to wring some sense out of their losses in order to see where their new manpower might be put to best use. There would be maps, and ledgers, and lists, and no doubt the captain of the guard and the exchequer and the Maker knew who else would have _opinions_. He could bear all this with much better grace after a few hours rabbit-hunting with his hounds.

Not that he was some callow youth, to complain of the obligations of his station, but all of this had fallen on him rather suddenly. One minute, he was in Denerim, his duties limited to the running of his brother's estate (which practically ran itself) and his evenings free to socialize and take advantage of everything the great port city had to offer... And the next minute, an exhausted messenger staggers into his dining hall to say Arl Eamon lies on his deathbed and would he please come take over for him!

Of course, he had left that very day, and assumed every responsibility he could, even unto the taking up of arms in defense of his brother's arling. To do otherwise would not even have occurred to him, but... He missed Denerim society rather badly. Well, actually he missed them rather _desperately_. Redcliffe had nothing to do at night, unless one liked to hear fish stories down by the piers, and the castle was so dreadfully cold and grim.

So he had greeted this strange arrival with more enthusiasm than he might have done a few months ago, before the entire nation went crazy and started slaughtering kings, vital militant orders and even entire _armies_ apparently without cause. He hoped that in time more of the newcomers might move into the castle and give it some life.

He was indulging himself in a flight of fancy on his way to the kennels, imagining the pleasure of teaching their women to dance, when he turned a corner and came to an abrupt halt, needing all his self-control to keep from crying out in alarm. Two fierce eyes shone green in the light of from his lamp, their owner prowling the shadowed hall with restless energy. Whoever he was, he froze on seeing Teagan, and for a long moment neither of them moved a muscle.

"Well?" Teagan said at last, using his 'master of the house' voice. Let this man know whose castle he trespassed in, he thought.

"Well what?" the stranger growled sullenly.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my castle?" Teagan ratcheted up the 'imperious' another notch.

"_Your_ castle? Tea – I mean, Ser Bann!" The man shuffled forward, his gait made awkward as he hunched his shoulders apologetically. "I'm Firetooth. You met my Alpha."

Maker's breath, _the _Firetooth was wandering around his castle, alone, in the dark. He was _lurking_, for heaven's sake. Remembering young Alistair's warnings about the man, Teagan took a deep breath to steady himself and made his body relax. "What can I do for you, my friend? Are you looking for," he groped through his memory for an instant, looking for the name, "for Nightsong? She's your, ah, _woman_, is she not?"

"Yes, she is," Firetooth said with emphasis and a hint of a growl. "And she's been too busy with those annoying, slobbering, yowling babies to see me at _all_."

"So you decided to come see her, instead," Teagan said, smiling. "Well, I could take you to her rooms, but when I passed them on my way down, the women were still asleep. Considering how precious sleep is with three infants, and how late you all went to bed last night, I doubt you would get the welcome you're hoping for."

"I don't have anything else to _do_," the man snarled, and paced back and forth across the hallway with barely contained agitation. "Gatekeeper won't let me do my job, my Alpha is too busy to take us hunting and my mate is too busy to-" He caught himself, glancing up Teagan warily, as though he hadn't meant to unburden himself to a stranger.

"I was just on my way to course some rabbits. Why not come hunting with me?" Teagan offered.

Firetooth straightened, his eyes widening. "Hunting?" he repeated almost wonderingly. "With you?"

"And my dogs, of course. A little exercise does a man a world of good."

Teagan smiled at him again as the man nodded and fell into step beside him, and silently thanked Zevran for his advice – _'Give him exercise and approval, and he is not so bad; think of him as a rambunctious dog.'_ Alistair and his young lady friend had made very clear that if anyone caused trouble, it would be this Firetooth, and Teagan had always been one to deal with enemies by turning them into friends.

Even so, he asked the kennel master to bring out an extra couple of dogs, and hooked a sword on his belt in addition to his hunting longbow.

* * *

Nightsong curled tighter under her quilt, hanging onto sleep by the fingernails. She did not feel well. At first she'd blamed her crankiness on being stressed and tired, and complained to her mistress of backache and headache until Sundancer sent her to bed.

It had been strange and cold to sleep alone in the new bed, though, and she had lain awake, listening to the others settling the boys down for the night. Clearwater had apparently decided not to bother trying to sleep in 'her' room at all, and crawled into bed with her sometime well after midnight. She wasn't here now, though, and Nightsong felt a little guilty when it occurred to her that the poor girl had probably gotten up early to let her more dominant bedmate continue to sleep.

But it hadn't done any good at all, and when fresh cramping pain flowed from her back, through her pelvis and into her thighs, she sat up and pushed back the covers, intending to ask Morrigan if elfroot would make it go away.

She sat and stared down at her bed for a long, long time.

"Lady have mercy," she whispered at last, and reached out a trembling finger to touch the still-damp red stains that shone out brightly on her sheets.


	17. Second Steps

Nightsong dressed quickly, dithering for a moment about her underwear until she stuffed a clean diaper into her panties. She would have to ask Sundancer what _she_ did with her moon blood. Then she splashed water on her face from the bedside pitcher and stood with her hand on the doorknob, gathering courage.

Her duty was clear. She couldn't keep this a secret. Well, she could – nobody would be able to smell her anymore, after all – but she shouldn't. She really shouldn't. Firetooth would find out, and then he would do something stupid, do what Gatekeeper had tried to do for his own mate, except that Firetooth would succeed, and Swiftrunner would die.

That couldn't happen.

_It will be all right_, she told herself. _Swiftrunner is smart. He will think of something... Something that won't end in slaughter_. She would present herself to her Alpha as pack law demanded. She would throw herself at his mercy and hope. She opened the door.

Outside the Alpha's suite, though, the strangest scene greeted her. First she had to push past three of the pack's other females, who clustered silently around his door, waiting with drawn and frightened faces for permission to enter. They scurried out of her way, and once inside she saw little Clearwater groveling at Swiftrunner's feet.

"-do with me as you see fit, of course, but-" she was saying, but stopped when she heard Nightsong open the door and looked up.

Swiftrunner's shoulders slumped with relief. "Thank the Lady," he said. "Tell Clearwater she's mistaken. She thinks she's having her moon flow, but that's impossible."

"Ummm..." Nightsong glanced over her shoulder at all the other ladies. There were five of them now. "Apparently not."

"I'm having mine," said Ambereyes.

"Me too!" "Me too!" came the chorus of the other ladies.

Poor Swiftrunner looked nearly frantic. "What? _All_ of you?"

"What in the name of all the forest is going on out here?" Sundancer demanded, stalking into the room. Her hair was disheveled and she was still lacing up her dress; evidently they had woken her up.

Swiftrunner looked at her helplessly. "It seems _all_ our females are fertile now," he said in a strained voice.

She stiffened and glared ferociously at the women in the hall, who shrank away from their mistress's displeasure. "If they are _all_ fertile, then there is no need for them to give themselves to you," she told her mate, low and dangerous.

"I don't want them!" he said, waving his hands as if to ward them off. "Not that I don't care for you all, you're my pack, but – _eleven_ mates? I'm only one man!"

Nightsong felt a stirring of hope, and jumped in to support Sundancer. "The law was decided because there was only ever one or two women who might bear children. Surely there's no need for it now, especially since Sundancer has proven herself."

"Okay. Fine," he decided, raking his hair back from his face. "I declare that law obsolete."

"Does that mean we can all have mates now?" asked one of the women in the hall, hopefully.

Swiftrunner threw himself down in a chair with a groan. "I don't know. No. I don't think it's a good idea to absolve _that_ rule right now. We can't have all the males suddenly start fighting over you. The reason for _that_ law is still quite serious."

There was a murmur of disappointment from the unmated women, who shuffled off to breakfast.

"Go tell Gatekeeper for me," Swiftrunner said wearily to Nightsong. "Make sure he tells the males not to get too excited. Nobody's getting a new mate anytime soon."

Even with Gatekeeper's damage control, breakfast was an noisy affair, especially when Morrigan wandered in and burst out laughing that the women were "all on the same cycle," evidently a hilarious joke, though to them it was serious business.

Oddly, Firetooth wasn't there; she asked after him, but no one had seen him since last night. It worried her that he would hear this news from someone else, but finally she had to leave and return to her duties to Sundancer.

On her way upstairs she passed an empty guest room – or, she'd thought it was empty until she heard muffled sobs. Frowning, she paused and peered through the half-open door. Blossom's mate, entirely nondescript except for his red hair, cradled her in his lap. The man had a name, but had chosen it so late that everyone had taken to calling him "Red," and the nickname had stuck. Nobody remembered what he had done to win a mate, and pack gossip said that Blossom had actually chosen _him_, calmly making her own plans during the upheaval after Swiftrunner's rise to power.

Now she clung to his tunic and wept pitifully. Red gave Nightsong an openly hostile look and she jumped away from the door at once, bolting for Swiftrunner's quarters. She tried to ignore the sinking guilt in her stomach: Blossom _hadn't_ been outside Swiftrunner's door today.

* * *

Teagan kept a careful eye on his hunting companion as they made their way through the estate's game preserve, but Firetooth was silent – eerily so, actually, his footsteps soundless on the forest floor, until Teagan thought he might be waiting for him to speak first and said, "Let me know if you have any questions."

"How do we hunt with these dogs?" the man asked immediately, looking at the big black Mabari who walked at Teagan's side.

"Ah," Teagan smiled. "Mainly we flush the rabbits out of hiding for the dogs to catch. Dane, here, is particularly enthusiastic about it. Even as fast as the hounds are, though, most of the rabbits get away. It's more for the fun of the chase – if we really wanted meat, we'd set traps."

Firetooth gave a snort of disgust at that idea.

"I agree," Teagan said, amused. "Unsporting."

They reached the first of the known rabbit warrens, and Dane quickly took charge of the other hounds, spreading them out to lie in wait behind trees and bushes. The men strode through the thickets, shouting and waving sticks against the bushes, and soon several rabbits broke from their protective hiding places and bolted.

Firetooth hooted with delight at the dogs' joyous pursuit, and he raced after them to watch the hunt's progress. The first rabbit escaped, its long ears flat against its back as it leaped and dodged in terrified flight until it reached the sanctuary of a burrow. One of the castle hounds began digging, growling in frustration, until Dane's deep bay brought him back on task, and the second rabbit wasn't so lucky.

Dane pranced to Teagan with his prize, head held high and cropped tail wiggling madly. Teagan smiled fondly at the dog and praised him, adding, "But we have a guest today. Give him the rabbit, there's a good dog."

Firetooth eyed the corpse dubiously. "It doesn't seem fair. He caught it, not me."

"Would your wife like a nice fat roasted rabbit?" Teagan suggested, but was surprised at the sudden flash of anger this caused.

"She's not my _wife_," Firetooth spat at him, and turned back to the dog. "You eat the rabbit. It's yours."

Dane looked to Teagan for approval. He shrugged. The rabbit was gone in four huge gulps.

Their hunting party was out longer than he'd intended, returning to the castle several hours late for breakfast. Aside from that one moment of strangeness, Firetooth had been an agreeable hunting companion and almost pitifully grateful for being invited along. Teagan bid him farewell outside the barracks, promising to bring him deer hunting as soon as Firetooth learned to ride a horse.

Inside he found that Alistair and the others had already left. He felt a stab of mixed emotion, guilt over staying out for so long and missing their departure mingling with some rather petty disappointment that they hadn't waited for him. He knew better – they had to hurry on to Haven if they were to save his brother – but the sight of the empty dining room, with its single place setting, depressed him more than he cared to admit.

He glanced at the ticking clock on the wall, a prized treasure of his brother's, and saw it was almost noon. With a sudden rush of decision, he rang for his butler, who appeared seconds later out of thin air, in the way of a well-trained servant. "I'm skipping breakfast entirely today," he told his man. "Inform the kitchen staff to bring lunch within the hour, instead. Bring enough for five people."

"Ser." The man bowed and vanished again.

Teagan strode to the stairs and jogged energetically up to the guest wing, where he knocked on the door to Sundancer and Swiftrunner's suite. Inside he could hear a baby's fussing and Sundancer's voice asking someone else to deal with whoever was at the door. He had a moment to worry he had come at a bad time, when the latch clicked and a woman opened the door just enough to look out at him suspiciously.

Glossy black hair framed her face, casting her large eyes and exotic cheekbones into shadow. She stared at him boldly, pursing her full lips in a way that meant she wasn't particularly happy to see him. Finally, she rolled her black eyes at him impatiently and said, "Yes? What?"

Not quite black, actually, more of a very deep brown, lit with gold flecks and generously fringed with long, dark lashes... He started, realizing he was staring, and composed himself. "I meant to invite Swiftrunner and his family to lunch. Is he here?"

"I don't have to tell _you_," she began haughtily, but Sundancer called to her from inside.

"Nightsong, that's Bann Teagan! Show some respect!"

She gasped and jumped back from the door, letting it swing open. Her cheeks flushed prettily as she stammered, "Please accept my apologies, I haven't seen you up close before and didn't recognize you and of course I can't let strangers in when the males aren't here-"

"It's quite all right, my lady," Teagan assured her and stepped inside, taking her hand and patting it to stop her from wringing them. It felt very warm and delicate inside his own. "Your devotion to your mistress is most admirable."

She dropped her eyes, her blush deepening. "You are most kind."

Teagan grinned, warming to his performance with such a responsive audience, and said extravagantly, "Ah, but you are a lady, and deserve to be treated as such."

She licked her lips nervously, glancing at Sundancer such that her hair, longer than he had realized, fell softly forward over a dress that barely contained _the most __**magnificent bosom**_ –

Disconcerted, he dropped her hand hastily and turned to bow to Sundancer, who looked nonplussed. "My apologies for intruding, my lady, but I had meant to extend an invitation to you and your family to enjoy lunch with me in an hour. Your ladies are welcome to accompany you."

"Oh, of – of course," she said uncertainly. "I believe my mate is busy, but we can come."

"But I was going to eat with-" Nightsong began, but her mistress silenced her with a quick shake of her head.

"All right, then," Teagan said with some relief. "I will leave you ladies to your privacy and await you downstairs." He bowed again with a flourish and swept from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

So! _That_ was the famous Nightsong. He certainly didn't blame Firetooth for sneaking around in the night, with such a prize at the end of his journey. Andraste's grace, he felt almost guilty for keeping such a belle here in Redcliffe, when she could be the toast of Denerim. He smiled to himself, remembering with pleasure her staunch defense of the door, and the way she had melted for him once she knew who he was. But he was no scoundrel, he reminded himself sternly, who would steal another man's wife.

_Ah, but she's not his wife_, said a treacherous voice inside his head.

* * *

The training grounds had dissolved into utter chaos. Half of their men had thrown down their wooden weapons and tackled the other half, forgoing the frustrating new method in favor of teeth and fists, and ignoring the shouted commands from their teacher. Gatekeeper dove into the fray beside his Alpha, and together they began to scold, browbeat, and wrestle their pack into a shame-faced line.

"I'm so sorry, Ser Perth," Gatekeeper said to the horrified knight once the scuffle was done, and Swiftrunner was stalking up and down their line, promising instant death to anyone who caused trouble again.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with these men?" Perth burst out, forgetting his usual courtly grace as he threw up his hands in exasperation and threw himself down on a bench on the edge of the grounds. "They won't drill, they won't spar, they won't even hold onto their shields-"

"If I might offer a suggestion," Gatekeeper said diffidently.

"Please do," the big man groaned and put his head in his hands. "I would listen to anything at this point."

"They're bored," Gatekeeper said frankly. "They have been walking and walking for weeks, and now they are arrived in their new home and want to explore and play."

"Play?" Perth scoffed. "Are they children?"

Gatekeeper bit his tongue until the urge to do something impolitic faded. "No, ser, but they are accustomed to freedom."

"Then what do I do?"

"I would suggest that, before training sessions, we go for a run and tire them out. They will thus be able to see some of their new home without causing too much trouble – they won't wander off when the rest of their pack is running." He sat down beside Perth and pulled one of the daggers the Wardens had given them out of his belt. "And I would suggest that we be allowed to continue to study with these, instead of sword and shield."

Perth frowned at the dagger, pensively, as he turned that over in his head. At last he said, "We do not normally employ skirmishers in Redcliffe's army, being primarily a defensive holding. But a focused group like yours, lightly armored and fast-moving... It has possibilities. Darkspawn raiding parties strike hard, then disappear before our knights can respond. It is maddening."

"We are accustomed to travel at night and by stealth, as hunters," Gatekeeper offered.

"I should discuss this with Mayor Murdock. He served under Loghain during the revolution and would know more than I about such tactics." Perth stood, straightening his shoulders. "For now, shall we run?"

...

By the end of their first day, the pack was exhausted. Ser Perth had taken him quite literally when he said Perth should "tire them out," and though his bones ached where old fractures had healed badly, he was gateful for the way his pack ate quietly and went straight to bed, too worn out to cause trouble.

He went to check in with Swiftrunner once he was satisfied that everyone was settled down for the night, and found his way to their door after asking a guard for directions. He found his Alpha poring over a large piece of paper covered in a detailed drawing.

"What is that?" he asked, bending over to look.

"A map," he said, pushing it across the desk for Gatekeeper to see more clearly. "It's a picture of the ground. This one has houses marked on it that Teagan says are empty. He wants to know if any of us want to move into them."

Gatekeeper sat down heavily beside him, rubbing his forehead. "We should probably move the women into one of them. Keeping them in the barracks is going to cause trouble eventually."

Swiftrunner shook his head. "I think it would be better to move them into one of the wings in this castle. It's safer."

Gatekeeper nodded. He was looking at the picture, the shapes slowly forming into reality. Those scribbles were trees... That line was the river, and this the main road...

He pointed at one of the marked houses, at the edge of the town. "Can I have this one?"

"Sure." Swiftrunner blinked in surprise. "But I'll need you here most of the time, you know that. And that one is at least a half-hour's walk away and in the middle of nowhere."

"I know." He grinned lopsidedly at his Alpha. "That's kind of the point. And anyway, even if I never go there, I'll be happier knowing I have my own space. I had my own room for so long, it feels uncomfortable not having one."

"Of course." Swiftrunner leaned back in his chair and studied him. "You know, old friend... Forgive me if I open old wounds, but, well... We have five unmated females, and if you're lonely..."

"I don't want a new mate," he said shortly, feeling his jaw tighten.

"All right, all right," Swiftrunner said quickly. "Forgive me for bringing it up."

"Are you harassing your poor Gatekeeper again?" Sundancer said, emerging from their bedroom with one of her sons. She smiled radiantly at them, her blond hair loose and glowing in the firelight, and swept down on Gatekeeper to kiss his cheek. "I think it's sweet. You're such a romantic, you old wolf."

Gatekeeper made his fiercest face and said gruffly, "I am not."

"Are too. Look!" She deposited her baby in his arms proudly. "He learned how to smile and he's been doing it all night. See! He's smiling!"

She gave a coo of delight, leaning on Gatekeeper's shoulder to beam encourgement at the boy, who cooed back and kicked his wrinkled feet. Gatekeeper smiled, too, at both of them, and when she saw him she grinned at him triumphantly. "Ha! You're a big sweetie. Isn't he a big sweetie," she added to Swiftrunner, throwing herself into his arms and nuzzling his neck.

"You seem happy," he observed, not deigning to comment on whether his second was 'a big sweetie.'

"I _slept_," she sighed in ecstasy. "It was _amazing_. And then I had a bath, with _hot water_. I feel like a person again."

"So that's why you smell so good," her mate murmured.

After a few minutes, Gatekeeper said, "Well, I'd better get back before someone burns down the castle." Swiftrunner and Sundancer were by now paying him no attention whatsoever, but he was peculiarly reluctant to let go of the baby, whose warm, soft body felt very good in his arms.

"I'll take him." Clearwater appeared behind him and scooped up the little bundle with practiced ease, bustling him off into the bedroom again, and Gatekeeper made his unnoticed exit.

* * *

_Phew, now that was a wall of text. Sorry about that, guys. Thanks for bearing with me all the way to the end, and thanks as always for reading!_


	18. Ironbone

Gatekeeper trudged wearily along the rutted road that led to his house. It lay on a patch of land too poor to farm, tucked up against a rocky cliff and fringed with the few bushes and stubby trees that could eke out an existence in the thin, dry soil. The family that had lived here had died the first night of the undead invasion, caught on their way home from visiting a friend in the town center.

Bann Teagan had been kind enough to show him the house days ago, when he'd first asked for it, but Gatekeeper hadn't managed to come back since. His duties to his pack had to come first, and after every exhausting day of training he and his packmates had simply dropped where they stood, sleeping in heaps all over the barracks, curled up around each other for comfort. But today, Ser Perth had dismissed them early as a reward for their hard work, and Gatekeeper had seized on the opportunity to finally explore his personal territory.

Wind-blown dust covered the front walk, dead leaves drifting in the corners of the broad porch as the more marginal tree shed their tired leaves in advance of the autumn frost. He shuffled through the leaf pile, not bothering to conceal his small smile of pleasure at the crunching sound under his boots, and pushed open the door.

The house smelled musty and unloved, indifferently lit by the sun filtering through the shuttered windows. He moved through the living room silently, as was his way, looking around at the furniture and personal objects. He paused beside the hearth to look at a small cameo of a woman's profile; beside it lay an even smaller drawing of a baby girl.

A clink and a rolling sound, as though someone had dropped a metal jar, and he froze, his hand going to his dagger. He drew it and held it cocked at his side, slinking through the dining room toward the sound, until he emerged into the kitchen. The room appeared empty, but the pantry door stood open. While he watched, another jar rolled slowly out from the pantry and came to rest against a leg of the kitchen table.

Had the family owned a dog, or perhaps a cat? Teagan hadn't said anything; maybe he had merely assumed it was dead. Gatekeeper sheathed his knife, not wanting the frighten the creature, and walked calmly across the room to the counter as though unaware of the animal, hoping it would come out to investigate him.

A squeak of fear and a shattering of pottery; he glanced toward the sound despite himself – that sound hadn't come from an animal's muzzle – and stilled so completely that he did not even dare to breathe.

A filthy little girl crouched at bay in the rear of the pantry, clutching a ragged blanket to her mouth and staring at him with impossibly large, dark, terrified eyes. Her hair hung in lank curls around her gaunt face, and her tiny feet were bare and grass-stained. She was barely more than a toddler, and looked poised to flee at any moment.

For several heartbeats, girl and man regarded each other. Then Gatekeeper looked away from her again, keeping his shoulders soft and his stance relaxed. He took a step sideways until he could see her reflection in one of the polished copper pans hung on the wall, and observed her.

When she didn't move, he reached very, very slowly into his pocket and pulled out the bag of butternuts he had bought as a treat for himself on his way home. Casually, he removed a nut and cracked it open with his teeth, extracted the kernel, and tossed it over his shoulder in the direction of the pantry. The girl flinched at the sudden motion, cringing against the far wall, but her eyes followed the nutmeat as it bounced along until it came to rest by her feet.

Nobody moved, until, with a sudden, desperate jerk, she snatched up the nut and stuffed it into her mouth.

Gatekeeper smiled softly at the orange reflection he was watching. She wouldn't be the first wild thing he had tamed; too often, their own young would go feral. They were always so frightened, and so desperate for someone to make them feel safe again. He didn't know what had happened to this one, but he could guess it had something to do with the hungry dead. He cracked another nut and tossed it to her.

She picked that one up almost before it had stopped moving, so he tossed the next one with slightly less force, so it came to rest a foot or so closer to him. She shivered with indecision for a moment but she took that first step towards him at last, and devoured the sweet nut with a gusto that told him she'd probably emptied that pantry some time ago.

He tossed her another nut, and another, until he was just dropping them on the floor beside him and struggling mightily with the urge to turn his head and look at her, to catch her up in his arms and keep her here so he could feed her and take care of her. Somehow this girl-child was different from the fierce wolves of his past. Somehow she reached past his mind to lay her tiny hands directly on his heart, and his body called out to protect her. But if he feared that if he tried to catch her, he would have to lock her up to keep her from fleeing and she would never trust him again.

He opened another shell to reveal a particularly succulent nut, and let his hand hang by his side, holding the nut loosely between thumb and forefinger. She waited for him to drop it, wringing her disgusting blanket with the stress of being so near him, but he was a patient man – or at least, he had learned to be one.

His heart somersaulted in his chest when he felt cold fingers brush his hand, and she popped the nut into her mouth.

Someone banged on his door.

The girl let out a stifled whimper and hid under the table. Gatekeeper clenched his jaw, biting his tongue in his effort not to shout at the intruder to get the hell off his porch, because he couldn't let her see him angry. Instead, he placed the almost-empty bag of nuts on the kitchen counter with exquisite care, turned, and paced deliberately through the house to tell the intruder, very politely, in his softest and most courteous tone, to get the hell off his porch.

He unlatched the door and let it swing open to reveal the broadly smiling face of a short, round man, his short, round wife, and their even shorter, rounder young son. They reminded him of nothing more than a trio of partridges as they clustered together on his front porch. The man chirped, "Howdy, new neighbor!"

Lady, they even _sounded_ like partridges. "Hello," Gatekeeper said cautiously, and almost fell over backwards when he flinched automatically from the – thing – thrust at him by the woman. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment when he realized it was a basket, and it smelled good.

"My own fresh apple fritters," the woman announced, and prodded him with the basket again.

He smiled at her and took the gift, picked up a fritter and tried a bite; it was only polite, after all. He didn't have to feign the sigh of pleasure at the sweet, fragrant pastry.

"See, honey, I told you, everyone loves my fritters," she told her mate proudly.

"Thank you," Gatekeeper said as soon as he had room in his mouth for words.

"As soon as my Wilbur here saw you come up, I said to Frieda, we should go show our new neighbor a good Redcliffe welcome," the man said, and held out his calloused mitt of a hand. "My name is Allan. Yours?"

"Gatekeeper." He took the hand and shook it, startled by the strength of Allan's grip. "I work for Swiftrunner, up at the castle."

"Sure, but what's your _name_?" Allan repeated, grinning. "They don't call me 'farrier,' you know."

"Well, _actually-_" Frieda began.

"Well, okay, they do," he laughed. "Allan Farrier. But you know what I mean, eh?"

"I, ah..." Gatekeeper hesitated. He hadn't used his old name in so long, and as nice as these people seemed, he wasn't ready to tell them anything so personal. "I actually do go by Gatekeeper. Everyone calls me that."

Allan blinked, and then the good-natured smile that seemed to be his default expression settled back in. "All right, then, neighbor."

Gatekeeper had a sudden idea. "Did you know the people who used to live here?"

"Oh, yeah," Allan said, suddenly becoming downcast, and beside him his wife gave a little sniffle and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "So sad. Couldn't have happened to a nicer family. Found their bodies ourselves, you know, the following morning-" He stopped and glanced at his son, who still stood with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor. "Well, it don't bear describing in front of children."

"I'm sorry," Gatekeeper said.

"Aliss weren't there," the boy muttered, and Gatekeeper perked up his ears.

"Sorry," Freida apologized, dabbing her eyes again. "We're not usually so dour. And Wilbur's got it into his head that their little girl is still alive somewhere, but of course that's impossible."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," Gatekeeper said again, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Thank you for the fritters."

"You're welcome, dear," Frieda said, and reached up to pat his cheek, which was so unexpected that he forgot to pull away from the uninvited touch.

"Well, we'd best be on our way," said Allan, and he herded his brood off the porch. "We live just east of here. Hope to see you again real soon!"

Gatekeeper closed the door behind them and returned to the kitchen. Aliss wasn't there.

He searched for the girl for almost an hour, and couldn't find her. He came to the conclusion that she had squeezed out through the kitchen window, which he found open, and gave up the search when he could find no trace of her in his yard. Cursing his useless human nose, he stripped, pulled the dusty coverlet off his new bed, and threw himself down to catch some sleep.

In the morning, before he left to report to Swiftrunner, he left his basket of fritters on the floor of the pantry beside a clean blanket and a bottle of milk.

* * *

_This super short chapter brought to you by the need to scrap and re-write the plots of the next four chapters. Mille libri pointed out that I had skipped a bunch of stuff. Whoopsie! Rather than make you wait, I thought I'd just give you the first half of this chapter now and the rest sometime this weekend. I hope you liked it!_


	19. Civilization

Nightsong pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate, only half-listening to the babble of excited voices around her and the music from the visiting minstrel at the end of the hall. The rest of her attention was turned inward, on the snarled knot of mixed emotions that made her lie to Firetooth every night, insisting she needed to stay in the castle with Sundancer in order to avoid having to really talk to him.

Swiftrunner had finally convinced Sundancer to come to terms with the other females moving into the castle, having reminded her gently but firmly that her position as his mate came with responsibilities and that living in the barracks was neither safe nor comfortable for their female packmates. Now Sundancer was doing a passable job pretending to be happy to see them as she sat beside Swiftrunner at the dining table, the other females twittering like birds in the sun as they sampled the unusually complicated and sumptuous food Teagan had ordered made as a welcome for them.

The man himself was leaning back in his chair, gesturing expansively with his goblet as he described the royal court of Ferelden to Swiftrunner, who listened with interest to the impenetrably complex maneuvering involved in running a nation, a sort of over-pack that encompassed all the smaller packs within its territorial borders.

"But I am neglecting my duties as a host," Teagan broke off, glancing at Nightsong. He leaned towards her, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, and said with a broad, wine-fueled smile, "You seem distracted, my lady. Is something bothering you? Tell me, that I might rid this world of what offends you."

"You sound like Ser Perth," she said, giggling despite herself. The knight had come to talk to Sundancer that afternoon and discuss the guarding of her rooms, and all three women had listened, entranced more by his formal turn of speech than the actual content of what he was saying.

"I should, we grew up in the same court," he said with a laugh. "My apologies for being overly dramatic. I'm merely delighted at your company – I mean, your pack's company, of course."

"Were you living here all by yourself? No pack?" Nightsong asked, and put down her fork to pay full attention to an Alpha's words. "That sounds awful."

"Moderately awful, yes" he said flippantly, and then his grin faltered. "I had been used to take advantage of my brother's family for company, but his wife... has died, and his son gone to the Circle for training."

"I'm sure your brother would let you take a m- a _wife_ if you liked. You've done him a great service defending his territory, after all," Nightsong suggested, then, suddenly worried that she might have accidentally opened old wounds, she added more quietly, "Unless you already had a wife, and..."

"No, no," Teagan waved his hand to dismiss her concerns. "I've never had the pleasure. Truthfully, I was not quite ready for such a commitment, you understand. And while Eamon had a wife and an heir, there was no pressure on me to marry and continue the family, but... I suppose I should start thinking about matrimony soon. When this is all over. Just in case." He sighed.

"I'm sorry I brought it up." She dropped her eyes to her lap and smoothed the red fabric of her dress. Their newly appointed maid, Valena, had convinced her to wear a brighter color for once, and it felt odd to be covered in something so unnaturally bright and intense... though it was very pretty.

"No need to be sorry," Teagan said, rallying his good spirits again. "It's no taboo subject, after all. Indeed, my lady, if I may be so bold – have _you_ ever been married?"

She blushed a little at the reminder of her own confusion. "I'm not sure. I know that sounds strange," she added to Teagan's look of disbelief, "but we didn't have anything like that where we used to live. All the women belong to our Alpha – symbolically, of course, since he only took Sundancer to mate – and then sometimes the Alpha lets one of his men choose a mate if he thinks they've earned the right."

Teagan blinked, wearing a look that was a little too carefully blank, and finally said with slightly strained cheer, "Well, I can see how that might be confusing."

There was a long pause in their conversation as Nightsong drank some of her water, hiding her face behind the goblet. She had tried the wine, but found it too sour for her taste.

"My lady," Teagan said hesitantly, "feel free to tell me I am out of bounds, but... You might wish to have your, ah, union formalized in the Chantry, here. I doubt that it would be recognized legally as it is."

"Legally?"

"Under the law. Pension for soldiers and visitation rights for prisoners, that sort of thing, as well as more immediate concerns such as the inheritance of property. Wives are given rights that, er, lovers are not."

"Oh, I see." She sighed, leaning against the back of her chair. She could imagine herself trying to explain to Firetooth that their mate bond was meaningless and he needed to perform some arbitrary human ceremony in order to keep her. _That_ would go well. Morbidly amused, she imagined the entire castle left in flaming ruins after Firetooth finished making his objections to any sort of change in their relationship.

"But I have upset you," Teagan said with a concerned frown, and impulsively took her hand. "Forgive me. I overstep myself."

"Oh, no, it's all right," she assured him hastily, not wanting to offend the Redcliffe Alpha by pushing him away. She cast about for a change of subject, and seized on the minstrel. "That's very nice music. I've never heard anything like it."

"You like it? He's Orliesan. That's a place to the north of here. How wonderful it is to be at peace – only thirty years ago, the poor man would have been killed on sight if he stepped over our borders." He stood, pushing his chair back, and offered her his hand. "You don't seem to be enjoying your meal, and I would hate to think any of my guests haven't enjoyed themselves. Would you care to dance, instead?"

"Dance?" She looked blankly at his hand.

Teagan grinned. "Ah, I thought perhaps you might not know how to dance. It would be my true pleasure to teach you. It's a sort of game, with music."

Nightsong glanced at Swiftrunner, hoping for some instruction as to whether she should play or not, but he and Sundancer were busy talking to Ser Perth and didn't notice her helpless appeal. So she took Teagan's hand and let him lead her away from the table and into an open area, deciding that obeying an Alpha was always the safest thing to do.

* * *

Teagan watched himself sweep Nightsong out onto his brother's dining room floor and place her hand on his shoulder, his own at the small of her back, watched as though from a great distance and too far away to shout at himself to stop being a brainless fool.

He saw one of the castle guards looking on, and remembered himself enough to call for the minstrel to play a waltz – something safe, slow, give himself time to think. He had forgotten how potent the plum wine in Eamon's cellar was. The woman under his hands moved with lithe grace, her hair swaying behind her hips; she felt warm and lively and surprisingly well-muscled, and he was going to need to dunk his head in the horse trough if his thoughts kept on in that direction.

He took refuge in the indignation he had felt on behalf of the almost-dozen women who now lived under his roof – his family's roof – upon learning they were given away as prizes. Swiftrunner seemed like a good man, who cared for his people. Surely their backwards attitudes were due to ignorance. Teagan would make a greater effort to befriend Firetooth, he decided, and convince him to marry this belle properly.

Yes. She may have taken no true Maker-blessed vows, but she still considered herself Firetooth's, and he must respect that.

"Thank you so much for letting us stay in your castle," Nightsong said, taking her eyes off his feet once she grew confident in the dance. She smiled.

_Firetooth's woman. Not available._

"Think nothing of it." He smiled back, but kept his gaze focused on her forehead instead of meeting her eyes. "It is no more than such lovely ladies deserve. Feel free to come to me at any time if there is anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant."

_Damn it, NOT available!_

"I'll do that. Thank you."

She smiled at him again, and in his distraction he let them wander over the edge of the wolfskin rug, and she tripped. He caught her, of course, and of course _that_ meant now he had her in his arms with her breasts pressed firmly against his chest -

He set her on her feet and backed away, gave her his most courtly bow, waving off her second and third round of thanks. "Please, the pleasure is mine, I assure you. Now, I would be remiss if I did not see to my other guests – Would anyone else like to learn to dance?"

Nightsong returned to her chair at the glittering dining table, and he found himself surrounded by bouncing, excited young women, and breathed a bit easier when he convinced himself he was really just being a good host, and a good friend.

* * *

Firetooth shoved open the door to his house. It banged off the wall and slammed shut behind him, plunging the interior into darkness. He kicked some empty boxes and a stray cushion out of his way until he reached the pile of blankets he'd tossed into the darkest corner, and threw himself down on them.

As soon as he'd found out Gatekeeper had a house, he had asked Swiftrunner if he could have one, too, and to his relief his Alpha had agreed. Actually, come to think of it, he had sounded rather relieved at the idea of his Striker living someplace else, which seemed strange, but didn't bear thinking about because, after all, Firetooth had gotten what he wanted.

He'd chosen this one for its defensible position, built into the steep slope near the bridge, and the walk to and from the castle was fast, too. But once he'd spent his first night there, he'd realized he didn't want it, not like this. It was cold, and dark, and much too quiet, and he felt as though its former owners' spirits held no fondness for him.

He was sure that once he brought his Nightsong into their new home, she would make it cozy and comfortable. And keep his bed warm. The question was how to convince her to come. He shoved his blankets around a little more, swearing when he banged his elbow on the wall.

He kept swearing, and muttering to himself and pushing his junk around, until he realized he was just making noise for the sake of it, to keep from hearing the unnatural depth of silence. He jumped to his feet again and stalked out his front door, swearing again when he struck his toes on a crate and kicked it savagely against a wall.

He was jogging up the hill again, intending to sleep in the barracks with everyone else (_Go ahead and ask why, Bonecrusher, I'll use your teeth as visual aids while I explain_) when he ran past Gatekeeper going the opposite direction.

"Firetooth, you have a moment?" Gatekeeper called after him, and he turned back with a curious look. He might have complained, but Gatekeeper's company was as good as anyone's and he was lonely.

"Give me a hand lugging this stuff," Gatekeeper said, and thrust a heavy sack into his arms. "Got a long walk."

"Why'd you pick a spot so far away?" Firetooth asked, to get a conversation going.

"It's quiet."

The irony of this was not lost on Firetooth. He tried again anyway. "What's all this stuff?"

"Mostly food. The pantry is empty. I'd like to fill it, it has all these barrels and jars with labels on them. The biggest one said 'wheat berries' so that's what you have in your arms."

"Why do you need so much food?"

"I don't."

Fine, keep secrets. See if he cared. They walked in silence until the castle's lights faded into the distance and the cottages grew farther apart, more rural. Then Gatekeeper surprised him by asking a question. "Why aren't you in your house tonight?"

He considered how to answer that, and went for partial honesty. "I want Nightsong to move in with me." He couldn't help a hint of petulance creeping into his voice. "She's _my mate_ and I _never_ get to see her, not even to..."

"Really? She was supposed to come out and see you." Gatekeeper sighed and adjusted his grip on the wooden crate in his arms. "Have you asked her why not?"

"Ask her? No. Does it matter?"

"It might. You can't always just tell females what to do and expect them to do it, especially not the more dominant ones. If you try to force her to mate with you, she'll just get upset. I mean, if she was Clearwater, it would be different, but Nightsong has... opinions."

Firetooth snorted. "Yeah."

They arrived at Gatekeeper's secluded house and climbed up the porch stairs, their boots sounding hollow on the planking. Gatekeeper put down the crate to open the door, then took the sack from Firetooth and dropped it inside. Firetooth wavered on the porch, not sure if he was invited inside. Gatekeeper came back out to finish talking to him, so evidently he wasn't.

"Go talk to her. Ask what's bothering her. Fix it if you can. Even if you can't, sometimes just showing her you tried is enough. All right?"

"Can't you talk to her for me?" Firetooth blurted. "I'll just piss her off worse. I'll forget what I wanted to say and-"

Gatekeeper chuckled, not quite the answer he'd been hoping for. "I'm not your go-between." He rubbed Firetooth's shoulder in an encouraging sort of way. "It wouldn't work, anyway. It's late, my friend. Thank you for helping me with the groceries, but it's time for you to go home. Lady go with you."

He went back inside, shutting the door behind him. The bolt slid into place with a clunk, and Firetooth knew he was dismissed.

* * *

Gatekeeper went straight to the pantry to see what had happened in his absence. She'd eaten the food and then gone away again. He surveyed the pantry and kitchen for a few moments, thinking.

He climbed the stairs to the second bedroom and pulled off the blankets, tossing them downstairs. He followed them with the mattress and pillows. Then he took the cushions off the sofa, the linens out of the closet, and the coverlet off the foot of his own bed, and piled the whole thing in the kitchen.

He spent about an hour draping blankets and linens over the kitchen table, using chairs as buttresses and cushions as flooring and to make the walls thicker, and weighing down the ends of loose fabric with boxes and jugs of water. He gave the den a shake, tugging on the blankets until he was satisfied.

It had to feel secure and solid; if anything was unsteady, it would feel like a trap, not a safe cave. He had to make this den better than wherever she was hiding currently. Then she'd sleep here, instead of running away.

He'd asked his neighbors, the Farriers, what children ate, pretending he had a friend in the castle. He hadn't meant to – he'd meant to tell them about her and ask for their help, but something had warned him that if he told anyone, they would come and take her away by force and he would never see her again.

As soon as that had occurred to him, he'd realized just how precarious their situation was. She wasn't a werewolf who could defend herself. He couldn't let her wander around at will like an animal or she would be caught, or hurt.

Or killed.

He baited the pillow fort with cheese and half of a can of sweet cherries, and went to bed, leaving the door open so he would hear her if she came in during the night.

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading, and to mille libri for plot help, and to Nithu for emergency beta one-last-glance duty!_


	20. In and Out

"It's warm tonight," Nightsong said to her mistress. "Want to go and sit in the castle garden, and watch the moon rise?"

"Are you bored?" Sundancer smiled mischievously. "You know, you don't _have_ to stay here tonight. I bet I know someone who would be _happy_ to entertain you."

Nightsong looked away, sucking on her lower lip. They were hanging around in Sundancer's living room with Clearwater and Wynne, who had been left behind to take care of Arl Eamon but spent most of her time reading. Now she looked up from her flimsy paperback curiously.

After a short pause, Sundancer asked, "Are you mad at him or something? What did he do? Usually you two don't stay mad for more than a few hours."

"I... I don't know." Nightsong sighed and slid a little lower in her chair, curling her knees up to her chest. "It used to be sort of fun, you know, seeing how far I could push him and watching him get all mad and then, of course..."

"Make-up sex," Sundancer supplied.

"Mm-hmm. But what qualifies as 'pushing' for _him_ is, like, sitting in his seat. Warden Latitia gets to have all kinds of fun with her mate, and fight darkspawn with him and help make decisions, and after seeing that, well... It's not as fun anymore. Now it's just depressing."

For several moments the room was quiet while she rested her chin on her knees and stared morosely at the rippling coals.

"And," she added at last, in an almost inaudible whisper, "Teagan is so _nice_ to me."

"Firetooth is many things, but _nice_ is not one of them," Sundancer observed quietly.

"It is not too much for a woman to ask her man to be nice on occasion," Wynne said, folding over the corner of her page and putting her book aside. "I'm sure, if you explain things to him clearly and respectfully, he will understand."

"You don't know Firetooth very well," Clearwater muttered, not looking up from grooming her fingernails.

A knock came at their door, and Nightsong rose to answer it. The maid, Valena, stood on the other side with her hands clasped.

"Your husband wants you, mistress," she said, bobbing her head in an abbreviated curtsy

"Now's your chance," Wynne encouraged her. "Go talk to him. It will be all right."

* * *

Firetooth sat uncomfortably on the bench in the castle's front hall, one knee bouncing in an attempt to disperse some nervous energy. He hated this. Hated being kept waiting, hated being kept out of the castle like a dog that might crap on the rug – he'd _learned_, he wasn't going to attack Teagan, he wasn't _that_ stupid, and anyway, Teagan was a man he could respect, not like that silly boy of a Gray Warden. He gave up on sitting politely and began to pace again.

Most of all, he hated having to come to _his_ mate and beg her to _be_ his mate again. No matter what Gatekeeper had said, he seriously doubted that groveling and begging would turn anyone on. If anything, he suspected she had lost interest in him because nobody ever let him _do_ anything that might have impressed or excited her.

When she emerged at last into the front hall, he crossed to her in one long stride and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the door and saying, "Come outside to talk, okay?"

She planted her feet stubbornly. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you until you listen to me."

He stared at her in consternation, his gaze traveling over her shoulder to Valena and the two door guards. Valena blushed and scurried away, but the guards greeted the unexpected excitement in their boring watch with rapt attention.

"Fine," he muttered, letting his hand drop. "What?"

"I want you to be nice to me," she said with a hint of defiance. She was standing with her arms pressed tightly against her sides and her chin raised, in open challenge.

"_What_?" he demanded. "Nice? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I," she faltered, visibly struggling for the right words. "I want you to care how I feel. I want you to listen to me, when-"

"I _am_ listening! You haven't given me a choice!" He threw up his hands in frustration. "And since when do I not care how you feel? I'm here asking, aren't I?"

"Don't yell at me!"

"I'm not yelling!"

"You are!"

"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded, scrubbing his palms over his eyes to calm himself a little. "What about how _I_ feel? This is _humiliating_!"

"Doing _to you_? I'm not doing anything to you-" she started.

"You're making me beg in front of-" He gestured at the guards, who momentarily stopped staring and looked at their boots. "Why can't things just be like they were? I thought you were happy!"

"I was," she said softly. "But things have changed. You need to change, too."

"I thought you lo –" He choked on the word, shutting his eyes and scowling to hide his pain. "I thought you liked me how I was."

"I do!"

"You're not making any sense!" He found himself at her side again, shaking her elbow as though he could wring meaning from her. "I've been a good mate to you! I've kept you safe and fed and I've been faithful! What more do you want? What the hell do you _want_ from me!"

"I don't know!" She shrank away from him, leaning against his grip. "I don't know what I want, I just know this isn't it!"

"Ser," one of the guards warned, "Unhand the lady."

Firetooth's first inclination was to cut the man's tongue out for daring to get between him and his mate, when his brain finally caught up with what his senses were trying to tell him. Nightsong's arm trembled under his fingers, and even with his human nose, he could smell her fear. He let go of her as though she'd burned him, and backed away. Then he turned and bolted.

He blew through the front doors and across the courtyard, under the portcullis and across the bridge, the night air cool on his face, with no thought as to where he was going except _away_. Eventually he found his steps trending toward his own house, but decided against it – he felt as though its gloom would crush him utterly. He had just turned to run in the direction of Gatekeeper's house, meaning to keep going past it into the farmlands and run until he was too tired to think anymore, when he almost bowled over Teagan coming back from visiting the Chantry.

"Whoa, there," the Redcliffe Alpha said cheerfully, putting out a hand to stop Firetooth from falling. "Is the town on fire?"

"No," he muttered sullenly.

Teagan regarded him for a moment, and then wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulders. "Come on, friend," he said, and steered him in the direction of the tavern. "You look like a man who could use a drink."

"Huh?"

"Have you sampled Lloyd's finest?"

"Huh?"

"Ale, man. I'm talking about ale."

"Oh. No."

"Then tonight is on me. Have you had dinner? We'll have dinner. I haven't had a night out since I came to Redcliffe..." Teagan went on to talk at length about Denerim and the people he knew there, and Firetooth was beginning to think their visit to the tavern was as much for Teagan's benefit as for his own, when the Bann paused for a moment just outside the door and added, "But seriously, my friend, I do hope you will let me know if I can help. I would sooner perish than pry into your affairs, of course, but-"

"I'll let you know." Firetooth chewed on his words for a moment, then bit out, "I – Nightsong is just being pissy with me, that's all. I don't know what her problem is."

"Ah, women," Teagan said expansively. "Well, if I might offer advice-"

"No, thank you."

"Of course. It's none of my business. Here we are – Two pints, Lloyd, there's a good fellow."

Firetooth slung himself over a chair and watched the bartender fill two mugs with foaming, amber-colored liquid, which he placed on their table with a _clunk_. Teagan picked his up and took a deep draft, setting the mug back down with a satisfied sigh. Firetooth eyed the mug dubiously, then imitated him.

Oh, this stuff was _good_.

He drained his mug, coughing slightly when he inhaled some of the foam. Teagan laughed and ordered him a refill and some roast lamb, and began telling him the funniest stories about hunting misadventures he had ever heard, stories which got funnier and funnier after the second and third refill of his mug.

"Make sure and eat some of that lamb, there," Teagan said after a while. "You don't want to drink like that on an empty stomach."

"Mmh. Not hungry," Firetooth grunted, but he obeyed the Alpha and picked up the lamb shank anyway, playing with it more than eating it. The noise of the tavern had become a pleasant hum, the room turning gently around him when he wasn't looking. He glanced up a few times, trying to catch it in the act of moving, but it was a cunning devil and anyway when he moved his head too quickly he got dizzy.

"This is really, really good," he beamed at Teagan, trading the lamb shank for his mug. Damn, it was empty again.

"I'm glad you liked it," Teagan said, looking at him in a funny way. Was he frowning? Had Firetooth done something stupid again?

He couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

The pack's youngest named member hauled the damp fishing nets out onto the dock and beamed at Soloman. "Thanks for letting me go fishing with you."

"Yeah, sure, Will, no problem," Soloman grunted, mentally calculating how much he'd just saved by using the lad's free labor instead of paying his assistant. "You wanna come tomorrow evening?"

"Maybe." Will jumped back into the boat, grinning at the way it rocked beneath him, and heaved another heavy net out onto the dock. "There's so much to do here, you know? This place is great."

"Oh, but I, uh..." Soloman struggled to think of an incentive to keep the boy. He was surprisingly strong, and a quick learner, and unbelievably gullible. "I'll buy you dinner. Eh? How about that?"

"Thank you, but I eat with my pack in the castle," Will said politely, and slung the nets over his shoulders. "Do you want me to put these someplace?"

He listened, nodding, to the fisherman's attempts to convince him to stay, but he was a little tired of the man. He'd enjoyed the fishing, been very excited about the efficiency of the nets, but he found Soloman sour and unpleasant, and so had no plans to fish with the man again.

Maybe he would ask Lloyd to let him help with the bread again. He'd have to get up really, really early, which he didn't much like, but the bread smelled divine and making things was fun. Or maybe he would try something new entirely. He could follow one of the farmers out to his fields and see about helping harvest – he wasn't sure what harvesting was, but Gatekeeper had said something about it being important.

Finally rid of the fisherman and his nets, he started toward the hill leading to the castle, but paused beside the smithy, listening to the clanging inside. The air had grown chill and the warmth of the forge shimmered out of the windows, and he altered his path to wander in through the open door.

An iron bell tinkled as the door opened, and Owen the smith straightened, wiping his forehead with the back of a heavily calloused and soot-stained hand. "Eh? What do you want? Please don't tell me you need repairs, I'm already workin' all night, as you see. Sodding stupid farmers – if you'd take care o' yer plows and yer combines _properly_ you wouldn't need me to mend 'em all the damned time, would you?"

"I'm not a farmer." Will leaned back against the door and wondered if he should leave. "I was just curious about... what you do, I guess. Can I watch?"

"No," Owen grumped. "I ain't putting on a show." He turned back to his anvil and began scraping white ash off a piece of iron.

"I'll help," Will said quickly. "I'd like to help."

Owen stared at his anvil for a moment, considering. He heaved a resigned sigh. "I guess." He turned and jabbed a blackened finger at Will and added sternly, "But you keep your hands to yourself and you do _exactly_ what I say. You set yourself on fire or stick your fingers under my hammer, and it's your own damned fault, got it?"

"Yes, ser," Will agreed. He was used to bearing his own consequences.

Owen would only let him maintain the heat of his fire and fetch materials for him, but watching was reasonably entertaining. It wasn't as much fun as making bread, though, since he wasn't the one doing the making this time, and when Owen finally threw himself down on a bench and began to peel off his protective leather uniform, Will was tired and ready to go home.

"Thank you, ser," he said, and made to leave.

"Wait up, son," Owen brought him up short. "My apprentice died on me – et by the walking dead, the unlucky bastard – and all the lads I've had in can't tell a forge from their arse. You worked hard, and you kept your mouth shut, and I'm desperate for help. Far as I'm concerned, you can come back tomorrow and we'll see how it goes, all right? You won't get a better offer."

Will wasn't sure _what_ Owen was offering, and didn't much care for the idea of blowing on hot coals all day, so he started to shake his head when the rear door opened and an ash-blond young woman leaned her head in.

"Papa, when are you – Oh! Hello!" She stepped in and dropped a short curtsy. "I'm Valena. Pleased to meet you."

"Uh," Will said. "Hi."

"This here's Will," Owen said after a long pause. "He helped in the forge today. Was just offering to let him start his probationary apprenticeship."

"Oh, how exciting!" Valena cried, and dashed over to clasp Will's hand. "Congratulations!"

"Huh?" Will felt he'd missed something important here.

"You _are_ going to accept, of course," Valena said, a shadow crossing her face.

"Uh – of course," he blurted, and was relieved when she smiled again.

"All right, then." Owen rose and clapped him on the back. "You get two months' probation, starting tomorrow. Now get outta here and get some sleep. No staying up late celebrating, I want you ready to learn tomorrow, not half-asleep and hung over, got it?"

"Yes, ser!"

Will made his way back to the castle, his head spinning. He had no clue what he'd just agreed to, but Valena seemed to think it was a good idea, and there was one thing he was _sure_ of, and that was that he liked making her smile. Not, he reminded himself, that she was prettier than Lily, but Lily was awfully far away and anyway, Gatekeeper had been very firm with him that he was too young to think about finding a mate, so he would do his best to keep his hands to himself and his mind busy with other thoughts.

* * *

_Special thanks to mille libri for lightning beta duty, and big hugs for alls y'all for reading and especially reviewing!_


	21. Progress

Her bath complete, Sundancer sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out one foot to nudge the boys' rocking cradle back into motion. Nightsong and Clearwater were already in bed. Swiftrunner had built up the fire to give himself more light for whatever he was doing at his desk, and the room was so warm she felt no particular inclination to put any clothes on. Instead, she brushed her damp hair and watched her mate mutter to himself and peer at a huge, wrinkled piece of paper.

"What are you working on?" she asked after a while, when she was sure the boys were deep enough asleep that her voice wouldn't wake them.

"Nothing," he replied automatically, and there was a long silence while she fluffed her drying hair and tried not to be offended. Then he heaved a sigh and threw down the pencil Teagan had so patiently taught him to use. "I'm assigning houses. Firetooth's been bragging to everyone about how he has his own territory, and of course Gatekeeper wouldn't dream of doing the same but a couple of the males saw him asking the chamberlain where he could buy food for his pantry, and now-"

"Now everyone wants a house," she finished, grinning. "That's thorny, all right."

"And the worst of it is, I know for a fact Firetooth doesn't _like_ his house. He's just being an ass." He leaned heavily against the back of his chair and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Does he miss Nightsong?" Sundancer asked, lowering her voice in case the topic of conversation wasn't asleep yet.

He shrugged. "Probably. But none of our people can really do well living alone. I wish Gatekeeper wouldn't insist on it, honestly, but it's his business." 

"I can talk to Nightsong in the morning."

"If you can convince her to get over whatever her problem is, _before_ Firetooth self-destructs, I'd appreciate it." He opened his eyes again, turning in his chair to hook an arm over its back and smile at her. "I probably should have asked you to earlier."

She dropped her eyes submissively, glowing. Her tail wanted to wag. "I knew they were having problems, I just didn't think to do anything about it," she admitted.

He sighed. "And I wouldn't normally have asked you to, so I'm not surprised you didn't. Everything is just so much more complicated now, it's-" His shoulders tightened and he pressed his lips together, and she was sure he must be embarrassed at acknowledging what he felt was an inadequacy in front of his mate.

She slid off the edge of their bed and crossed the soft rug to him, wanting to show him he didn't need to try to impress her. She stood behind him and ran her hands lightly over his shoulders; he took a long breath and let his head fall back against her chest. Eventually he started talking again, sounding a little sleepy.

"I'm worried about sending any more of my males out to live by themselves, but if I send them in groups, they'll have to work out a fresh hierarchy and then the most dominant ones will start thinking they have their own pack. That's always a disaster. I could start with just giving the other two mated pairs their own houses, and that might be okay for Ambereyes and Lightfoot, but Blossom's mate is so low on the ladder it'll piss off all the other males if he gets a house sooner than they do, and..." He let his voice trail off in another heavy sigh. "I wish I could be going over this with Gatekeeper, but he's been so distracted recently, spending all his free time out and about. That's another thing that's worrying me."

"I think he's fine," Sundancer said calmly, carding her fingers through his hair. "He looks happy. He holds his head high and his eyes are bright."

"Great, but he's not doing his job. I mean," he leaned forward and shook out the paper again, straightening the wrinkles so she could see it, "look at this! How am I supposed to match men to houses and have it _not_ blow up in my face?"

She peered at the paper and furrowed her brow, not understanding.

"It's a map," he explained. "It's like a picture of the ground. The squares are houses. Teagan marked the empty ones with red, see?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, the aimless lines and shapes suddenly clicking into place in her head and becoming three-dimensional. She pointed to a blue wavy line. "That's the lakeshore? And this is the castle?"

"That's right," he said, pleased.

"You could assign houses in pairs," she suggested. "Three or more, they'll gang up on each other and you're right, they'll form packs. Pairs won't, especially if you set it up so one is clearly more dominant than the other."

"They won't get their own territories, though."

"They will. They each get their own bedroom, and share the other rooms. Just like in the old palace." She started ticking off names on her fingers, rattling off the members of their pack in pairs. "And you can keep Bonecrusher and anyone else who might cause trouble here in the castle with the excuse that you need them as personal guard."

He was watching her with a bemused expression, and she had to wait expectantly for a second or two before he responded. Then he grinned. "Great. You have a brilliant solution for who gets which house, too?"

She pursed her lips seriously, hiding her excitement at being asked her opinion. "I would have to see them, I think." _You would have to take me! Won't that be fun?_

* * *

Swiftrunner smiled at his mate's transparent bid for greater involvement in their pack. He would have to think before he'd be happy with her wandering around Redcliffe alone, but surely no harm would come of taking her out on tour himself. And, frankly, her input had been helpful. He didn't think well in a vacuum; he liked to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and with Gatekeeper absent, he'd just been stewing in indecision.

Also, she was adorable when she was all Serious Business. That was a surprise – but she'd never tried to involve herself in the pack's management before, when it consisted mostly of who killed who and how they were to be punished. It occurred to him that perhaps she'd kept her mouth shut not because she wasn't interested, but because she was too smart to get involved in violence. Another man might find a clever mate threatening, but he found himself delighted at the discovery that she was more than he'd let her be.

"Sure," he said indulgently. "We can go out tomorrow, if it's warm enough. I don't want you to catch a chill."

She drew herself up indignantly. "I will not! It's barely autumn, and Teagan gave us such nice things to wear. Look, this cape has fur on it, see?"

She pounced on the wardrobe and pulled out blue cloak lined with rabbit fur. She threw it over her shoulders and turned in a circle, such that it swirled dramatically around her calves.

"And it's soft," she added, hugging herself to enjoy the soft fur on her bare skin, then squeaked in surprise when his arms were around her, hands seeking her body under the fur.

"Not as soft as you," he murmured, nipping her neck to make her giggle. "Puppies safely asleep, yes?"

"If we keep it down." She pulled inexpertly at the laces of his trousers, succeeding with persistence when technique failed to untie the knots, while he tried more carefully to undo the clasp of her cape.

It pooled at her feet, and he caught her up in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they fell together onto their bed, laughing and scolding each other in whispers to be quiet.

* * *

Sundancer snuggled closer to her mate, who stirred sleepily to drape an arm across her shoulders. She rubbed her nose in the curly fuzz on his chest, smiling at how very different it was from the thick coat of fur he'd so recently lost. The fur had been nice, but this was better, more intimate.

"Mmmh... go to sleep," he mumbled, though she felt him smile against the top of her head. "Tired."

She wriggled her fingers where they lay across his ribs, and he snorted with suppressed laughter when it tickled, clamping his arm down to trap her fingers. She grinned. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you're ticklish now."

"Sure, I believe that." He caught her hands and brought them to his mouth to kiss. "You just _forgot _how _hilarious_ it is to tickle your mate. Your poor, tired mate."

"Yes. Exactly."

"You wouldn't think it so funny if _you_ were ticklish."

"Maybe I am. Maybe you haven't found the right spot yet."

"Hrmm. Now that's an intriguing notion. In fact," he said, and with a quickness that belied his claims of exhaustion, he rolled her over and pinned her gently against the bed, "I think that sounded like a challenge."

"No, no, I wouldn't dream of challenging _you_." She squirmed under him, more for the look of the thing than out of any desire to escape.

"Well, good." He abruptly relaxed and went limp on top of her, his head lolling on the pillow. "Because I'm too tired to do anything about it."

"Oof! Gerroff!"

"Hmm?"

"Get off, you big lump!"

"But I'm comfy."

"You're heavy!"

He chuckled and rolled onto his side while she made a great show of gasping for breath and fanning herself.

"I love you," he told her seriously.

She stopped her pretense at once and looked at him for a moment. Then she turned toward him to be enfolded again in his arms. "I love you too. Can – can I ask you something?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Would you marry me?"

He was silent for a moment, and she hoped he was considering her request. The idea had been rolling around in her head since Leliana had first described it, and she was sure that nothing would more clearly mark their transition to humanity than to embrace this most important tradition.

"Why?" he asked finally, which wasn't quite what she'd hoped for but was better than 'no.'

"Because that's what humans do with their mates. We're human now, so..." She shrugged. "And it would be fun. Don't you think it would be fun? We can have a feast. And then, you can call me _wife_, and I can call you _husband_."

"Does that matter?"

Her heart sank. She should have known he wouldn't care about that sort of thing. "It does to me."

"All right. You have to organize it, though. I've got my paws full already."

She gasped, pulling back to examine his face for sincerity. "Really?"

"Sure."

She squealed with delight and threw her arms around him. Behind her, one of their babies whimpered, then burst into furious howls of protest at being wakened.

"Now you've done it." Swiftrunner swatted her bottom in mock-reprimand, then released her, smiling fondly at his happy mate as she cuddled their son to her breast.

* * *

"That'll be three silver, eleven coppers." The woman behind the counter of the newly-reopened general store eyed Gatekeeper dubiously as he fumbled with the coins in his pockets.

"Hang on, I've got change here somewhere." He finally turned his pocket inside-out and dumped its contents out into his hand: A motley of coinage, a few nuts and their shells, a candy wrapper and a generous amount of lint. He picked out the right change and handed it over.

She turned over a silver coin and pulled a piece of toffee off of it, raising an eyebrow as a long string of sticky candy stretched out from it, clinging to the coin.

"Sorry about that," he said, abashed, and offered a cleaner coin in exchange.

She took it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You're one of the new folks who came in a while ago, right?"

"Yes." He started to gather up his purchases, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

"You have a kid?"

"A... Oh." He looked down at the rather suggestive collection of items in his arms. Fruit, nuts, more candy, child-sized clothing and socks, and a stuffed toy dog. "Yes. A girl."

She smiled warmly and bent to pull something from under the counter. She leaned over and tied a bright pink ribbon around the toy dog's neck. When he started trying to maneuver his bundles around to where he could reach his pocket, she stopped him and said, "Gift-wrap's free today."

"O-okay. Thank you..."

"Jetta."

"Jetta," he repeated, returning her smile.

He strode quickly along the road toward his house, the setting sun making the wind whip restlessly through the trees. He pushed open the door and stowed his packages on the high shelves in the living room, where the girl couldn't reach; doing so ensured that she had to take all her food from _him_ and wasted no opportunities to reinforce trust. He kept a handful of the nuts and a piece of toffee and carried them, and the toy, into the kitchen with him, where he placed them on the countertop and began to make dinner.

There was no sound or movement from the pillow fort under the kitchen table, but he felt reasonably sure she was still there because the doors and windows were all still closed. He built the small fire, cheating a little by using a few pieces of quick coal since he still wasn't very good at it. He set a pot of water to boil and brought over some rolled oats and some eggs; after pouring the oats into the bubbling water, he considered the eggs for a long moment before shrugging and dropping them into the hot water, too.

When he turned back to the table with two bowls of oatmeal with egg, a little white face regarded him from a gap between blankets. He gave the face a quick smile and sat in one of the chairs that wasn't covered in pillows and tablecloths, blowing on her bowl to cool it.

When he judged it cool enough for safety, he held out the bowl with a spoon in it, and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she ate. He kept his grip on the bowl when she would have taken it back into her lair with her, mostly to give her more practice being near him, but also because he'd learned she would not bring the bowl back out again and he was starting to run low on bowls.

When she was finished, he stood up to rinse the bowl in the sink, and was pleased to see her still sitting on a cushion at the edge of her fort and watching him, her filthy little blanket in her lap. Gatekeeper picked up the stuffed dog, his heart warming when her eyes lit with interest on the toy. He seated himself in the same chair with it in his hands.

He waited until she looked up from the toy to his face; meeting her eyes, he hugged the soft toy to his chest, stroking the brown velveteen gently and lovingly while she watched. Then he opened his arms and offered the toy to her.

She took it gravely, and hugged it close as she gazed up at him.

It occurred to him, much later, as he watched her turn the ribbon into a leash to tie her new toy firmly to her own wrist, that he hadn't thought of his mate for days.


	22. Consent

_Some NSFW content about halfway through. Thank you all for your kindness and encouragement, and special thanks (and apologies) to my long-suffering beta, mille libri!_

* * *

Nightsong's intense concentration on her writing lesson was interrupted when Sundancer breezed in, bringing the scents of cool autumn air and dried leaves with a swirl of her blue cape. Swiftrunner followed her, listening with amusement to her rapid monologue on housing.

"But nobody knows how to cook yet, so you can use meals as an excuse to get everyone back up here every day and keep tabs on them all," she concluded her speech and swept down on the bed, where all three of her sons were lying in a cluster under Clearwater's supervision. "How are my sweet boys? Did you miss mama? Mama missed _yoooouu..._"

"Perth and the others are probably having lunch," Swiftrunner said, leaning on the door frame and watching his family. "I should go down and meet them so I'm not late for afternoon training."

"Okay." Sundancer lay on her side, curled around their brood. "Bye-bye. Can you wave bye-bye to papa?" She propped up one bemused infant against her chest and waved his pink fist at Swiftrunner. "Buh-bye, Papa!"

"Eh," said the baby.

Nightsong squinted at him, noting he was the dark-haired one who'd been doing most of the babbling. They were becoming easier to tell apart as they grew. The two blonds were quite different in size, one being a pudgy little thing with an excellent appetite and the other more concerned with gazing in fascination at his mother, nearby lamps, or his own fingers than in actually eating.

Sundancer tossed off her cape and blouse and settled in to nurse, and Nightsong went back to making sense of the letters. It wasn't that there were so many of them, so much as it was that they all looked the same unless she looked carefully, and wrote very slowly. Would it have killed them to make V and U a _little_ easier to tell apart?

"Aren't you bored of that yet?" Sundancer asked after a while, lacing up her bodice, her sons fed and happy.

"By the Lady, yes," Nightsong said fervently. "But it was so kind of Teagan to give me this book to write in, I don't want to offend him by not using it."

"You've used it enough, I need your help now." Her mistress crossed to the desk and picked up Nightsong's hand. "Look, you're all covered in gray stuff."

"Graphite."

"It's nasty."

Nightsong reached up quickly and touched Sundancer's chin, leaving a dark smudge.

"Oh! Such insolence!" Sundancer sputtered. She pounced on Nightsong, who squeaked and hunched her shoulders, giggling. Sundancer grabbed Nightsong's arm and rubbed the smudge off onto her sleeve. "There. Justice. Now, we have important things to do."

Nightsong brushed ineffectually at the gray mark on her sleeve. "Like what?"

"We have to get _married_!"

"What, you and me? I love you, honey, but not like that."

Sundancer swatted her arm. "No, me and Swiftrunner, and you and Firetooth."

Nightsong's mouth hung open in astonishment. "How did you swing _that_?" she demanded.

"I just asked Swiftrunner if we could get married, and explained why I wanted to and that it was important to me, and he said yes," Sundancer explained happily.

Nightsong's shoulders drooped a little. "The way you phrased it, I thought somehow you'd already gotten him to agree. I haven't even dared to imagine getting married and having a wedding, I just know he wouldn't understand, and if I try to force him he'll-"

"Dig his claws in and refuse to budge," Sundancer finished for her. "But I was thinking that, if you tell him Swiftrunner's doing it, he might want to do it, too."

Nightsong nodded slowly. "If I explain it as something prestigious, like having a house."

"Exactly. He won't want to be left out."

"That's a great idea!"

"I know. I'm brilliant," Sundancer said, leaning back in her chair and twirling a lock of her honey-blond hair around her finger with such exaggerated smugness that Nightsong laughed.

* * *

Teagan heaved another sigh as he turned over a page in his brother's payment-in-kind roster. He had to hire a new tax collector, probably more than one, to deal with keeping all this business straight. How many chickens were worth one pig? Depends on the chickens, and on the pig. How many piglets to a sheep, how many sheep to a cow, how many cows to a horse... Why couldn't they all just pay their taxes in gold, and save him this headache!

He leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. His eyes ached from reading in the dingy, stuffy little room. Why the hell was the office in the center of the castle? Why couldn't it be in a tower, with windows all around? Even as he had this irritable thought, one of the candles responded to a sudden draft by spattering wax across the page he'd been writing.

"It's okay, he said I can talk to him whenever I want!"

He straightened at the voice coming down the hall, a voice like a flute wrapped in black velvet, and suddenly he wasn't nearly as tired and depressed as he'd thought. The door swung open and Nightsong burst in, Sundancer holding her hand and both of them beaming and happy and bringing more light and air than four walls' worth of windows.

"Sundancer's getting married," Nightsong cried, tugging the smaller woman into the room with her until they fetched up against his desk. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the wood. "Also, look, I have graphite on my hands, so you know I've been writing."

_She has hands?_ His eyes were under assault by the straining bodice that she'd unconsciously thrust toward him right at eye level. With an effort, he directed his gaze down to her hands. "Yes, I see that. Well done. Uh, congratulations, Sundancer."

"We need to know what to do now," Nightsong said.

He jumped up from his chair, deciding he'd had enough of ledgers for now and deserved a break. "We go talk to the Revered Mother. Shall we?"

* * *

Around dinnertime, Nightsong was comparing swatches of different kinds of white cloth with Sundancer when they heard Swiftrunner storm down the hall. He threw open the door and leaned his head in, his face like a thunderhead.

"Nightsong," he said, "Firetooth is falling apart. I need you to go deal with whatever your problem is, right now."

"Why? What's wrong with him?" she asked, her stomach clenching with fear.

"He's not here for dinner and he missed afternoon training, so let's just say, either he's seriously ill, or he _will_ be once I find him. I can't deal with him right now, I have to sort out a problem with the young males getting all worked up about their living arrangements." He looked at his mate. "Not your fault, a new issue. Don't wait up for me. I might have to sleep in the barracks tonight."

With that, he left, the door banging shut behind him. Nightsong turned to Sundancer, her face etched with worry. "What do I do now?"

A polite knock came at the door before Sundancer could respond, and instead she called, "Who is it?"

One of the interchangeable castle guards opened the door a crack and said, "Private Willem, my lady. I'm to escort Nightsong to her husband's house. Commander Swiftrunner asked us to look there first."

Nightsong got up and pulled her red cloak out of the wardrobe, throwing it around her shoulders. "Let's go, then."

Outside it wasn't cold, just damp and gray. She followed Willem a short distance to a small house built into the steep slope of the hill, which he indicated was Firetooth's.

"Would you wait outside, please?" she asked her escort, who looked dubious, but nodded and wandered off to lean against a lamppost, his pike resting on his shoulder. She climbed the front stairs and started to knock on the door, but it was unlatched and swung open a few inches before bumping into something glass that went _clink_. She pushed it the rest of the way open, listening to the glass bottles rolling away across the wooden floor, and stepped inside into the darkness.

Something jerked the door out of her hands and slammed it shut behind her. An arm wrapped around her neck and pressed her back against a bare, muscled chest. "You should know better," growled a familiar voice behind her ear, "than to sneak into a wolf's lair."

"I'm not sneaking," she snapped, taking refuge from fear in defiance. "You don't _have_ to lurk in the dark, you know. _Some_ people are smart enough to light a candle. _Some_ people don't lie around sulking and miss practice, so that their alpha has to send their mate to fetch them."

"I lost track of time. I wasn't _sulking_," Firetooth said sullenly, not loosening his grip. His breath smelled funny, sort of like bread. "So. You're here 'cause Swiftrunner sent you, huh? An alpha had to _order_ you to make you come see your mate?"

Nightsong stopped before she defended herself, remembering she was here to make up, not to argue. "I missed you," she whispered eventually. The truth of her statement struck like a physical blow, and suddenly she couldn't remember why she had stayed away so long.

For the briefest instant, he hesitated, and she thought she could feel him tremble. Then his hands were hard on her arms as he half-guided, half-pushed her toward a nearby sofa. She stumbled over another of the wretched bottles that littered the floor and fell forward over the padded arm of the sofa, and stiffened in shock when her mate grabbed her skirts and flipped them up over her back and out of his way.

"Wait! Let me take them off -"

Her protest was cut off by her gasp when his fingers reached between her legs, his other hand pinning her body against the couch as he shoved himself into her without further ado. He took her, hard and uncompromising, their coupling almost a punishment as he forced the moan from her throat.

It seemed to take forever, and yet not long enough, by the time he gave one last, vindictive thrust and collapsed on top of her, soaked with sweat and breathing hard. Nightsong wriggled, her hips uncomfortable against the armrest, but he paid her no mind until at last she said, "Honey? I'm squished."

In response, he bit the back of her neck – not hard, just enough to feel it. The pressure of his teeth on her skin brought with it a rush of memories, of forest floor beneath her forepaws instead of this couch that smelled like horsehair, of tails that got in the way, of teeth gripping the scruff of her neck when clumsy paws couldn't hold her tight enough. Her terror the night after Swiftrunner had given her to a man who'd won the right to mate by violence, and her joy in the morning when he had licked her face and shyly presented her with the rabbit he'd caught. For her. She tensed her thighs to take some of the weight off her hips and waited until he was ready to let go.

When he finally gave a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, staggering off to the lavatory, she stifled her groan of relief and rolled over to sit more comfortably on the couch, straightening her skirts around her.

She heard him rattle around in the dark rooms, muttering to himself, and stifled the urge to look around for matches. This was really ridiculous. Didn't he know how to light candles? Living in the dark had been all very well and good when they'd had such good noses they barely even used their eyes, but now? It was time to adapt.

He found his way back in the end, though, and dropped down on the couch beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and leaning on her heavily as he lifted a dark bottle to his lips and drank thirstily. When he was done, he stared at the half-empty bottle for a moment, then offered it to her. She took a sip to be polite, and winced at the sharp bite, though she did like its yeasty smell. She handed it back and let him finish it himself. He did so, and chucked the empty bottle across the room. It bounced off the wall and fell noisily among all the others.

That was the only sound for a long time, until he asked, very quietly, "Are you staying?"

"I don't know," she said, just as quietly. "That depends on you. I'd like to."

"Then stay."

"It's not so simple."

"Why _not_?" he demanded.

She regretting the phrasing – too confrontational – and tried to back up a bit before he dug in his heels. "I didn't mean it like that, I'm your mate, and we should be together, _that's_ simple. It's just..."

She paused to think for a moment, trying to recover the carefully-planned speech he had just pounded right out of her head. "Territory is really important," she went on, remembering part of it. "And humans own territory differently from wolves, and so if I'm going to share your territory, here, we need to be married. Otherwise I'm just an intruder."

He snorted with disgust. "Like I care. Mate is mate."

"R-right," she faltered, then rallied. "So, if it doesn't make any difference to you, then we might as well go ahead and get married. I mean, since you don't care either way."

He didn't say anything to that.

"Swiftrunner is going to marry Sundancer," she added.

"So?" he muttered sullenly.

"So nobody else is married yet. We could be first after Swiftrunner. We _should_ be first after Swiftrunner. We don't want anyone else getting married before we do, that would be embarrassing."

"Red," he grunted, which would seemed random except she knew he was talking about the pack's most submissive adult male, who had acquired his mate (or vice-versa) in shady circumstances. It would be very embarrassing to do anything after Red had already done it.

"Exactly. Once he sees Swiftrunner got married, he'll want to do it, too."

She felt his silent growl vibrate against her shoulder; he shifted closer on the sofa and brushed her dark hair off her neck, nuzzling at the exposed skin. He gave a rough sigh and leaned his forehead on her neck. "What would we have to do?"

"You wouldn't have to do anything but show up." She glanced at his current state and added, "Wearing clothes."

He chuckled, and her heart lifted. Then he said, "We can go do it now. The Chantry does it, right? They're open late."

"W-well, I guess they might do it now, but... Sundancer's wedding is going to have a feast, and music, and dancing and special clothes."

He snorted in contempt and leaned back against the cushions, folding his arms. "That's stupid. Why are they celebrating being forced to jump through yet another stupid hoop for the humans?"

"Because it's fun," she retorted. "You get to go out and do all kinds of interesting stuff and all I get to do is sit around inside all day, it's boring! Is it too much to ask for just one day for _me?_"

"_Every_ day is for you – you think I work because it's fun? Everything costs money now! Lazing around is a privilege!"

This was all going wrong, and she had no idea how to stop it without surrendering, and she didn't want to surrender, not this time. "Why do you have to turn this into a whole big thing? Why can't you just say _yes_ for once? This is important to me!"

"No, it isn't – it's just a stupid whim, and you'll forget about it in a week. I'll marry you if I have to, but I'm not letting you spend all my money on some absurd public spectacle. I'm tired, and I'm done talking about this." Firetooth stood, swaying slightly, and stomped across the living room to a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner, where he threw himself down and dragged a quilt over himself. He looked back at her in the gloom, patting the blanket nest beside him invitingly.

She stared at him in disbelief. "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?" He sat up and scowled at her.

"I mean, no, that's not good enough! Apparently you're only willing to do the absolute bare minimum to get me to sleep with you, so if I have to go away again to get you to listen to what I'm saying, then I will!"

"I am listening! How am I not listening?"

Nightsong took a deep breath and got up, pacing across the room a few times and trying to think back on what she'd just said. Why was this so difficult? Sandancer had made it sound so easy.

Finally, she knelt on the edge of the pile of blankets and said, very carefully, "Human women have jobs and own their own things. Human women run the entire Chantry, and that's huge. And... I've been thinking about it, and I think Alistair wasn't actually the Warden Alpha. I think Latitia was, at least partly."

Firetooth laughed derisively.

"See?" she said tightly. "That's what I'm trying to say. You think that's laughable, but it's not. The Warden pack _works_, because Alistair trusts Latitia to help him. I don't want to sit around and wait for orders, wait for you to come home. I don't want to be a werewolf bitch anymore. I want to be a human woman who can do things for herself. I don't want to just be your mate, I want to be your _wife_. I want you to trust and respect me enough to _want_ me to be your wife."

She shivered, on her knees, while she waited for him to plow his way through what she'd just said. She couldn't see his expression clearly in the dark, and wished again that she'd brought lighting. She couldn't even smell whether he was upset or not.

"You don't..." His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. "You don't want to be my mate?"

_Damn it!_

"No, that's not what I meant," she cried, struggling desperately against the rush of blind panic. Why had she said that? She should have known he would focus on those words and ignore the rest.

He came to his feet, his clenched teeth flashing white in the shadows. "You can get the hell out!" he shouted.

"I don't want to, I want to stay," Nightsong begged. She clung to his hand, tears streaming down her face.

"You lying slut, get _out_!" He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet; ignoring her cry of pain, he threw her bodily out into the street. She caught a glimpse of his face in the light of the street lamps, so twisted with grief that she stumbled to her feet, reaching for him, only to find the door slammed in her face.

"Miss, are you all right?"

The forgotten castle guard came up in time to catch her when she tripped down the front stairs. "Let me take you home," Willem said, patting her shoulder soothingly.

She nodded and let him lead her back to the castle. She blinked in surprise when they arrived outside her own bedroom door, the intervening time lost in numbness, but ignored Willem's anxious questions and went inside, shutting the door. He hesitated outside her room for a moment, and then she listened with relief to his armor jingling as he marched purposefully away.

The fire was lit against the autumn damp, and she shed her cloak and shoes, leaving them in a heap on the floor before curling up on the braided rug in front of the fireplace. She wanted light and heat very much.

A soft knock on her door came a short while later. "Come in," she said dreamily. She'd been expecting Sundancer, so the heavy step of a man's boots startled her. She looked up to see Teagan's worried face.

"Private Willem came to my study to report a disturbance," he said softly. "A certain Firetooth, assaulting a certain lady of my acquaintance. I thought I should make sure you are well and safe."

"I'm fine," she said automatically.

"With all due respect, my lady, you don't look fine. Actually, no, I tell I lie, you look lovely as ever, but – well, somewhat less composed than usual." He sat beside her on the rug, then hissed in surprise and dismay when he noticed the slowly spreading red stain over her left knee. "Maker's breath! Tell me honestly, my lady, should I fetch a healer?"

She glanced at the stain with a frown. She hadn't noticed the injury. Hiking up her skirts to expose her knees, she examined the scrape clinically. "No. It'll heal. I fell, that's all." She sighed and stretched her bared legs out to the fire, leaning back on her hands.

"We should at least wash your wounds." Teagan stood up to fetch the pitcher of water beside her bed that his efficient servants always kept full, and a soft towel from the wardrobe.

She waved him away when he knelt beside her. "Don't."

"I insist," he said, meeting her black eyes with his blue ones.

"Don't, please," she said weakly. "I can't bear it. If you're kind to me, I'll cry. Please, just go _away_!"

Her words dissolved into an anguished wail, and Teagan gathered her wordlessly to him as she sobbed.


	23. Nine Tenths

_Sorry about the long delay! Blame the winter solstice and its associated business. Thank you for your faith in coming back to read the next installment :) Also special thanks to mille libri, and apologies for not managing to make very good use of her suggestions this time, the ol' muse could only think of one way to do things this time. Specifically, this way:_

* * *

"I'm telling Bann Teagan right now."

"No, please don't! I don't want anyone to know."

Sundancer hesitated in the act of pushing open the door to the castle pantry. She started to leave, to come back for her cooking lesson later, but then the first voice spoke again.

"We at least have to tell Commander Swiftrunner, get him to _do_ something about it. If those inbred hicks think they can do this sort of thing and get away with it, it'll go badly for the other girls who work in the castle. Think about your sister, for Andraste's sake!"

A choked sob. "Oh, Maker."

Sundancer pushed the door open. "Tell Swiftrunner what?" she asked softly.

Valena sat on a pile of flour sacks with her arm around a redheaded girl Sundancer had seen in the kitchens but didn't know by name. The redhead whimpered, hiding her face against Valena, who held her closer and glared defiantly at Sundancer. "I don't see how it's your business."

Sundancer was taken aback at this rudeness, but Valena had always been a helpful and polite girl when it was her turn to be their maid, so she gave her the benefit of the doubt. She kept her body relaxed and her voice gentle. "He's my mate. His business is my business. What happened?"

Valena hesitated, and then they heard the sounds of the other kitchen workers coming down to start making lunch.

"Come on," Sundancer offered, approaching the girls and holding out her hand to the redhead. "Let's go to my room so you can have some privacy, okay?"

"Okay." The girl took her hand and allowed herself to be guided up to Sundancer's suite via the back stairs to avoid the chattering kitchen staff. She kept her head down, so that her tangled hair fell forward and hid her face.

Sundancer pushed open the door to her room and guided both girls to the softer chairs, near the fireplace. She pulled the desk chair over to join them and sat on it. She was about to ask if either of them wanted a glass of water when Nightsong opened the side door that led to her own room and walked in, holding her writing things.

"Aw, Sunny, I was going to use the desk – what happened?" Nightsong cut her complaint short when she got a closer look at the redhead's face, ravaged by weeping and marked by a darkening bruise, five thick fingers outlined on her cheek where she had been slapped. The girl ducked her head again at the attention, hunching her shoulders in misery.

"Your disgusting soldier-boys happened," Valena snapped, leaning forward to take Nightsong's eyes off her friend. "You want me to tell them, Mira?"

Mira nodded, and Valena said icily, "One of your boys was here last night, chatting her up – she works in the night kitchen, gettin' the dough ready and making sausages and stuff like that. I've seen him around before, he tries to mooch food off of all the girls, but he likes Mira best 'cause she's too nice for her own good. She feeds stray dogs, too, so it weren't much of a stretch."

Mira managed a damp smile when Valena nudged her shoulder affectionately, and then Valena continued her narrative. "So anyway, he was here when I left last night. I didn't like to leave Mira alone with him, but I was already late and my papa worries himself sick about me after what happened with... you know. The disturbance." She gave a little shudder at some internal memory. "And anyway he was really turning on the charm, telling her how pretty she is and whatnot, and Mira don't get out much to meet boys and..."

"I though he were cute, and I liked the attention. I asked you to leave," Mira whispered. "Don't feel bad about it."

"Well, I oughtn't have listened," Valena said bitterly. "Because he started getting real pushy after I left, and Mira told him to get out. I mean, he ain't a bad-looking fellow, and sometimes a girl likes a little fun but _come on_, she ain't exactly being a priss if she don't want to bend over right in there in the castle kitchens! But apparently Mister Charming don't take no for an answer, and I found her in the pantry this morning, crying her heart out."

Valena sat back and folded her arms, clearly expecting Sundancer and Nightsong to be horrified by her account, but Sundancer wasn't sure she understood. "So why don't you want to tell Teagan? Are you afraid he'll be angry with Mira?"

"What? No, why would he?" Valena's brow creased in puzzlement. "Mira just don't want everyone looking at her funny. She don't want the attention, or the pity. But we can't let that son of a bitch get away with it."

Sundancer tried again. "But wouldn't it still be up to Teagan to defend her? I mean, isn't she his?"

"She's his employee, she ain't his slave," Valena snapped.

"But she doesn't have a m- a husband, does she?"

"What the hell difference would that make? Rape is rape!"

The four women stared at each other for a few moments, realizing that, though they were both speaking Fereldan, they weren't speaking the same language at all. Finally Sundancer thought she had some idea of the misunderstanding. "Mira, he thought you didn't belong to anyone at all, and he – what was his name?"

Mira frowned. "I don't know his real name. He always used this stupid nickname, he called himself Bonecrusher."

Valena shook her head. "Why you ever said word one to a guy who called himself _Bonecrusher_ I'll never know."

"Oh, I know who you mean. That _is_ his real name. Stupid jackal," Sundancer muttered. "At any rate, he thought you were free for the taking. He wanted you for a mate, sweetheart, and he probably thinks you're his now."

"A mate? What is she, a damned _dog_?" Valena demanded, outraged. "And what is this bullshit about not belonging to anyone? Mira belongs to her damned _self_, and ain't nobody gonna change that with his cock, no matter how hard he tries!" She took a deep breath, flushing slightly. "Sorry, ma'am. I forget to watch my tongue when I'm upset."

"It's okay," Sundancer said absently. The thought of belonging to no-one but herself was chillingly, unbearably lonely. She couldn't imagine not knowing Swiftrunner would always protect her and care for her, his most prized and beloved possession.

But there _had_ been a time when that hadn't been true, and not that long ago, either. She didn't like to think of it, but there had been a time when she'd belonged to a monster, a beast who found her tears amusing, who made her beg for her food, who enjoyed the smell of her fear. Refusal had not been an option. And, truthfully, it still wasn't an option for most of the pack women. Swiftrunner was gentle and he would listen if she told him she was too tired or sore, but she found herself thinking of the other mated females and wondering what went on behind closed doors.

"Valena," Nightsong said suddenly, breaking into her line of thought. Sundancer looked at her with a slight frown; she was curled up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, and when she spoke, her voice sounded a little hoarse. "Would it have been okay if Bonecrusher actually were her... man? Would it still have been..."

"Rape? Hah, well, if they were together, she'd be with him because she liked him, so she'd have probably said yes and it wouldn't be an issue," Valena said, shrugging as though to say _That would never happen_. "But he still wouldn't have any right to do what he did. It ain't right. A girl ought to have the right to say _no_ sometimes, even to her man. Especially to her man. He don't own her. There's no slaves in Ferelden."

* * *

Swiftrunner brought dinner up to his suite in the castle as usual, anticipating a quiet evening with his family after a particularly tiring day. What he got instead was a small pack of women, including two of the serving girls, thoroughly riled-up about something one of his wolves had done. Hiding his fatigue, he listened patiently as his mate explained the situation, with frequent comments from Nightsong and Valena. Central to the issue was a new word, Rape, and the fact that this Rape was among the worst of crimes.

When they finished and sat looking at him expectantly, he hesitated for a minute, rubbing his jaw. Finally he said, "You know, I don't care what Bonecrusher thought. I would have punished him for leaving those kinds of bruises on her even if she'd been his mate."

"But-" Valena started to protest.

He waved a hand, cutting her off. "I know, it's worse than that. Bonecrusher's an idiot. We've never had so many women around – he's getting excited and not thinking with his head. And you're right, this will happen again if we don't make an example of him."

He sighed heavily. "I don't know how we'll explain this idea – you're basically saying that the answer is always _no_ by default, right? And a man has to convince a woman to change her mind and say _yes_, every single time?"

Valena scowled at him, then let out an irritated huff. "I guess. Yeah."

"Right. It'll take them a while to understand that. Hell, I don't fully understand it either, but I can see how rules like that would be necessary in a pack this big, where the alpha can't watch over all the women personally. Eventually our men might understand, but right now, if I tell them they can't rape because it's wrong, they won't listen. So," he stood up, his face resolute, "I'll tell them they can't rape because, if they do, I'll have Firetooth beat them to within an inch of their life."

* * *

Firetooth pushed his stew around in his bowl while the rest of the pack finished their meal. The long tables in their barracks were mobbed, and the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons on bowls beat down on his ears in time with the dull throbbing of his head. He dropped his spoon in disgust and thumped his elbows down on the table, rubbing his temples.

"You done with that?"

His eyes flew open and he slammed his forearms down into a protective circle around his bowl, baring his teeth at the big man across the table.

"Ooh, scary." Bonecrusher grinned at him and leaned back a bit, no longer threatening the food. He couldn't _quite_ manage to lounge insolently, not while sitting on a bench with no back, but he did turn sideways and put a foot up on the bench seat, draping one heavily-muscled arm over his bent knee.

Firetooth curled his lip contemptuously and tried again to eat his stew, despite the headache and nausea he'd woken up with that morning. It was going away now, but cut his temper even shorter. "You keep stuffing your face, you're gonna get fat," he growled at Bonecrusher, then gave a short, barking laugh. "Imagine that. A fat werewolf."

The big man rolled his eyes. "Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, man, but we aren't werewolves anymore. You might have noticed the lack of fur? The thumbs?" He held up his hands and wriggled his fingers.

"Well, we sure as hell aren't humans," Firetooth snorted. "We aren't the same as everyone else here."

"Yes, we _are_," the arrogant oaf laughed. "You're living in the _past, _man. No wonder you lost your mate."

Firetooth went very still, his fingers tightening on his wooden spoon until the knuckles whitened, but either Bonecrusher didn't notice or he was enjoying taunting him. Something must have happened to give the thug a big head – he looked fit to burst with self-satisfaction. _How dare he. How dare he talk about her._ There was a small _crack_ as the spoon snapped in his hand.

"You're so busy sulking about _change_," Bonecrusher mimed cringing from an invisible, frightening force, "you might as well have been neutered, for all the notice she takes of you now. Big scary Striker, too scared to stop being a wolf and start being a man."

"Listen to the ladykiller."

A soft, sardonic voice came from Firetooth's left as Daystalker approached on typically silent feet. He tapped Firetooth's shoulder and pointed at his hand, and Firetooth realized the broken bits of the spoon were digging into his skin; with an effort, he relaxed and dropped the splintered wood, ignoring the sting.

"Just because he's had some success begging food off the kitchen women, he thinks he's slick as butter," Daystalker went on, keeping Firetooth between himself and the bigger man despite his bold words. "You don't have to listen to him."

Bonecrusher curled his lip angrily, but didn't rise to the bait; he had no beef with Daystalker. As for Firetooth, the arrival of this soft-voiced submissive was more effective than a muzzle; he would not risk dragging Daystalker into another fight, no matter how much he wanted to rip Bonecrusher's smirking face off.

And he _did_ want to. He trembled with the effort of restraining himself, his fury made all the more impotent by the silence inside his head, the unbearable silence and loneliness that had filled the void left by his wolf. There was no driving force, no lustful howl to confirm he was doing the right thing. It was just him, nasty little Firetooth that nobody wanted.

The back door banged open and provided a blessed distraction in the form of their Alpha. "Pack," Swiftrunner bellowed, and silence rolled over the barracks as every head turned toward him. "Meet me in the training yard in five minutes. Firetooth, with me."

Firetooth glanced at Daystalker before getting up, letting some of his gratitude for the other's support show in his face before he flicked his half-empty bowl at Bonecrusher and strode off after his Alpha.

"Hey – what the hell," shouted Bonecrusher, jumping up and shaking stew off his hands.

"You asked for it," Firetooth tossed back, and shut the door behind him.

Swiftrunner regarded him for a moment, and Firetooth's eyes flickered as he wondered if he was about to be scolded for allowing Bonecrusher to tease him. Then his Alpha sighed and looked up at the stars and the fragile crescent moon.

"I have a job for you," he said.

_Thank the Lady._


	24. Monster

Firetooth nodded eagerly, his muscles tightening with anticipation. "Yes. Gladly. Bonecrusher needs to be reminded of his place."

"You realize this is in response to something specific, not just a general beating," Swiftrunner said sharply, and his Striker nodded again, trying to look grave.

"I know. You said. He roughed up one of Teagan's girls." Why Teagan couldn't take care of it himself, he didn't know, but perhaps Teagan had asked Swiftrunner to handle the discipline out of respect for his authority. Yes, that made sense. Having more than one Alpha around made everything more complicated; it was good that the two were respectful to each other.

Swiftrunner gave him a long took, then sighed. "That's basically it. I'm bringing everyone out. We're setting an example, here, so nobody else tries to prey on his girls." He turned and headed back inside, leaving the younger man alone in the training yard for the moment.

Firetooth rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. He didn't normally like enforcing discipline this way, cold-blooded and long after the fact, and Swiftrunner didn't normally ask it of him. Wolves don't learn well when the consequence comes late, but more than that, the Alpha avoided delayed punishments because too many of their pack remembered the way Red Fang had kept order, when they'd been lucky even to know what they had done to merit the beating. Probably this had led numbnuts like Bonecrusher to think they could get away with anything as long as they weren't caught in the act.

Inside, he could hear Swiftrunner laying charges against Bonecrusher, followed by a moment of stunned silence and then a howl of protest from the accused and a shouted command from Gatekeeper. The rest of the pack marched out into the moonlit yard and formed into a wary circle against its walls, watching as Swiftrunner dragged the offender into the center by the scruff of the neck.

"She's not his, she never was his, and anyway now she's _mine,_" Bonecrusher was arguing. "I haven't done anything wrong! I didn't want to hit her, she made me – she said no and slapped me and I had to teach her a lesson!"

"She _made_ you hit her?" Firetooth snarled contemptuously, bringing the pack's attention to him. "Are you so weak and pathetic that a skinny girl can _make_ you do anything? Or are you just so ugly that you can't get laid without knocking your mate down first?"

"You shut the hell up," Bonecrusher snapped.

Swiftrunner gave him a final shove toward Firetooth and backed away, giving the men space. "Firetooth," he said formally, "I call upon you to administer my justice before the eyes of our pack."

"In the name of the Lady, who gave us order." Firetooth parroted the words, meeting Bonecrusher's furious glare.

"Try not to kill him, but... Accidents do happen." Swiftrunner shrugged theatrically, causing a ripple of sycophantic laughter from the witnesses. Firetooth felt a smile spread across his face, pleased at the trust given him by his Alpha, who knew Firetooth never killed anyone by accident – knew it with enough certainty that he could make a joke about it.

"What?" Bonecrusher looked around him wildly, full understanding of his situation finally settling in. "Don't you sic your dog on me! I've always been your loyal man, I didn't do anything against you, I'm not submitting to this!"

"You _will_ submit to your Alpha's judgment, or I _will_ kill you," Firetooth threatened, feeling his hackles rise at the disrespect. He closed the distance between them to deliver a sharp jab to the big man's shoulder, demanding he turn and face him properly.

He did. In fact, he spun with surprising speed for his size and tried to catch Firetooth before he could get away. He missed, of course. Firetooth was long gone by then, but still close enough to lunge in and land another jab on Bonecrusher's ribs before the big oaf recovered his balance.

"Don't fight, you'll just make a fool of yourself," Firetooth grinned.

"You're a maniac," Bonecrusher growled. "You're a monster. You don't belong here and I don't have to submit to you."

Firetooth silenced the stupid, fat mouth with the heel of his hand to spare his knuckles from hitting sharp teeth, power flowing from the earth beneath his right foot and all the way through his body as he threw his weight into the blow. Pain sparked in his wrist and was dismissed as unimportant; Bonecrusher staggered backward to give himself space as he spat blood and wiped his watering eyes.

Hoots and cheers rose as the crowd got caught up in the excitement and lust, and Firetooth lunged to follow up on his advantage, his blood singing in his ears. Then he found himself stumbling past his prey as Bonecrusher sidestepped and brought an arm down like a falling tree across Firetooth's shoulders. He pounced on Firetooth as he tried to escape and tackled him around the waist, bringing the fight to the ground.

Firetooth wasn't surprised at all. On the ground, the bigger man's superior weight and brute strength would tell, so of course Bonecrusher would try to bring him down. He wasn't surprised, but he was a little alarmed that he'd been caught so easily. He was a little more alarmed when a quick twist and wriggle didn't even shift Bonecrusher's... well, _crushing_ grip.

Grunting with effort, Bonecrusher dragged one hand out from under them, grabbed a fistful of Firetooth's shaggy hair, and shoved his head face-first into the ground. Firetooth's forehead smacked into the pavement but he'd tucked his chin and managed to save his nose – a broken nose is a liability, Zevran had said. He ignored the flickering lights behind his eyes and twisted again, harder, and managed to clock Bonecrusher across the cheek with an elbow.

He felt the fist in his hair loosen and jerked himself free, scrambling forward, but thick fingers dug under his belt and caught him. Then he was being heaved bodily into the air, and he had a moment to curse the dangerous inconvenience of clothing before he was smashed back into the ground. Pain flared in his left knee when it hit, the kind of pain that really shouldn't be ignored. He rolled frantically away and tried to get to his feet, but the knee collapsed under him and he had to scurry out of Bonecrusher's reach on all fours, leaving streaks of blood on the stones.

The noise from the crowd had changed, some men staring in shock that anyone was fighting Firetooth at all, much less so successfully, while others, men he'd hurt or frightened in the past, began taunting and laughing. He tried again to stand and fell heavily against the line of witnesses, who pushed him back into the center. A movement from the castle caught his eye, and he realized with dismay that two women he didn't know were watching the fight through an open window, and with them were Sundancer and _Nightsong._

"Are you running away, Striker?"

Bonecrusher's words were muddied by rapidly-swelling lips, but there was no mistaking the derision. Mocking him, in front of his _mate_! It was intolerable! Pain faded into fury; with a wordless snarl, he launched himself directly from the ground and into Bonecrusher's stomach.

The breath whooshed out of his prey as he fell backward and landed hard on his fat ugly arse with Firetooth on top of him and howling with rage. Bonecrusher's eyes widened with fear and he clawed at Firetooth's back, trying to rip him off, trying to get away. Firetooth bared his teeth in a hideous grin, dug his thumbs into the man's throat and hung on like grim death. It took only a few seconds for Bonecrusher's eyelids to droop and his body to fall limply to the ground, and Firetooth decided to thank Zevran again for teaching him – _just_ him – how to put a man down by cutting off the blood supply to the brain.

He pushed himself upright, balancing with care on his injured knee, and glared triumphantly around at the rest of his pack. Gatekeeper rushed forward to check the limp body for life, his shoulders relaxing with relief when Bonecrusher's eyes fluttered and he groaned softly.

"Well done," Swiftrunner said, coming forward to lay a hand on Firetooth's shoulder. He swayed slightly, and his Alpha steadied him, adding, "Why don't you go on home now and rest. Take tomorrow off."

"I'll go in a minute." He ducked out from under Swiftrunner's hand and limped purposefully toward the castle.

Men moved out of his way as he crossed the training yard. Inside, he sought the service entrance to the castle and the narrow, spiraling stairs that would take him up to the guest wing. He leaned heavily on the railing, hopping with ponderous effort one stair at a time and cursing the clumsiness that had caused him to fall so badly. The Lady only knew how long it would take his blasted knee to heal, and he was going to be hobbling around like an old man until them. At least it didn't hurt. Not yet, anyway. Not while his heart was still pounding with adrenaline and excitement.

Tonight, Nightsong was coming home with him.

His Alpha had finally, finally given him a job to do, and he'd _done_ it. At first he'd been embarrassed that Bonecrusher had gotten in so many hits, but now he was sure that just made his ultimate victory even more impressive. And Nightsong had been watching! She couldn't fail to be impressed at his prowess. Hadn't the women been the ones who wanted Bonecrusher punished, anyway? She would be pleased, and impressed, and she would regret... what she had said.

His mind shuddered away from remembering that night in any greater detail. He pushed open the door to her room and limped in.

The two strangers were clustered together with his mate, Sundancer, and Clearwater, on a thick rug in front of the fire, their heads bent together. When the door opened, they fell silent and turned their faces up to see who had barged in. Some were pale, others tear-streaked, but only one was Nightsong and that was the only one he saw.

He hesitated, suddenly at a loss for what to say or do. "Uh," he said eventually.

"You oughta go put some ice on that," said the blond girl he didn't know. She pointed at his bloody knee, visible through his torn trousers.

"I, uh..." He floundered, glancing at the stranger for a moment in confusion. "I want-"

"There's ice in the kitchens," that same girl interrupted him, and now he noticed how cold she sounded. "Why don't you go and get some. Then you oughta go home and rest."

Firetooth set his jaw. _Go away, you are not welcome here_, that's what she was really saying. "No. I'm here for my mate. Nightsong?"

"Yes?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. Looking more closely, he could see she was pale and drawn. His eyes softened and he limped closer and leaned down to touch her arm. "Don't worry. It's okay, I'll heal."

"I'm not-" She stopped herself and hunched her shoulders.

"I'm not mad at you anymore," he offered generously. "I'm sorry I shouted. I know you don't like me to shout. It's okay, let's just go and-"

"No, it's not okay!" she cried, coming to her feet. "What you did to me was wrong, and it wasn't the first time, either!"

He frowned, trying to remember exactly what he'd done. With a sinking sensation, he remembered throwing her out of his house with definitely more force than was appropriate for his delicate Nightsong. He took a step back and growled defensively, "Well I'm sorry about that too, but you said – you said you didn't want –" He faltered and glanced at the strangers again. He didn't think he could bear to say _You said you didn't want to be my mate anymore_ in front of them.

The mouthy blond girl got to her feet, too, her fists clenched and her eyes glinting fire. "If she says she doesn't want to, then you have no right to make her! Don't you try to excuse yourself! I think you should get out!"

Baffled, he turned back to Nightsong, who was blushing. "What did you tell them?" he demanded.

"Everything," she said miserably.

He felt like she'd slid a knife into his heart. He couldn't believe she would humiliate him like that. How long had they all been laughing at him behind his back? His head throbbed and he swayed, his body reminding him of its hurts, and with the pain came hot rage.

This whole awful mess was the fault of these strangers, and all the other humans they'd been forced to deal with. They were filling Nightsong's head with lies and poison. She had been _happy_, he was sure of it, she'd been happy with him before they came here and now they were ruining everything and making _both_ of them miserable!

"We're getting out of here," he snapped. He grabbed her wrist and made for the door, pulling her after him.

"Where are we going?" Nightsong cried in alarm, leaning back against his grip.

"We're going to my place, where you _belong. _And you're not coming back here again," he snarled, baring his teeth at the other women in the room. They blanched and recoiled from the terrifying, bloody, half-crazed man, and the mouthy blond one bolted past him, out the door and down the hallway.

"I don't want to go," Nightsong wailed as she dug in her heels. "Let go, you're hurting me!"

He growled in frustration and bent to scoop her up, ignoring the fresh stab of pain from his leg, and was taken completely by surprise when Sundancer slapped him, hard.

"How dare you snarl at me," Sundancer panted with fury, shaking her hand when it stung. "How dare you come into _my_ den and assault _my_ packmates! I am your Alpha's mate and you will show respect!"

"But I -"

Running feet converged on the suite as the mouthy girl came back with a pair of castle guards from one end of the hall and Swiftrunner ran up the same stairs Firetooth had come by. He'd started from farther away but even so, summoned by his mate's cries, he arrived before the guards did and nearly broke the door off its hinges in the process.

"What's wrong – _Firetooth_?" He skidded to a halt and the guards piled up behind him. "What are you doing here? Nobody's allowed up here but myself and Gatekeeper."

"Get him out of here," Sundancer snapped. "And take Nightsong away from him. He doesn't deserve her."

"What? What is this?" Swiftrunner looked at Firetooth in disbelief, then past him to Nightsong's tear-streaked face. He waved his hands, calling for calm. "Everybody just settle down. Give him a break, honey, he's been fighting. Fighting at your request, I might add."

"He _raped_ her!"

Absolute silence fell in the wake of Sundancer's ringing shout. Slowly, all eyes turned from her to Firetooth, whose headache was becoming more insistent by the minute and whose brain felt like it was full of molasses.

"I'm... I'm not actually sure if it was..." Nightsong broke the silence in a very small voice. She wrapped her arms around herself and shrank away from Swiftrunner's glare.

"Well, was it or wasn't it?" the Alpha demanded. "You can't go making accusations like that if you aren't sure. You all may have forgotten what Firetooth has done for us, but I sure as hell haven't – Firetooth? You okay?"

He was not okay. The concept of rape had been explained to him as horrible and awful and cruel, but he did horrible things regularly as part of his job and that didn't concern him so much as the fact that the real, central issue of rape was that _the woman didn't want it. _

When had this happened? How many _times_ had this happened? Had she _ever_ wanted him, or was she just afraid of him?

Afraid of him like everyone else. Afraid. Hurt. Disgusted.

"Firetooth?"

He fled.

Down the hall, down the stairs, through the courtyard and across the bridge as fast as he could go on his gimp leg. Panting with pain and nausea, he felt like every step slogged through a marsh of black, clinging despair and the harder he struggled, the deeper he sank.

Lady, he needed a drink. He'd not understood the concept of "needing a drink" when Teagan first brought it up but Lady, he needed a drink. He stumbled to a halt somewhere on the road to the tavern and pawed clumsily through his pockets to make sure he had enough money to really and truly silence the voice in his head that taunted him, called him weak for _needing _anything. He had some silver. It should do.

Hot air and noise poured over him when he opened the tavern door. The noise dampened somewhat as patrons looked up at the new arrival and then quickly looked away. He tried to ignore the censure and limped to the darker end of the bar, slapping a handful of coins on the counter and glaring at Lloyd until the man produced a mug of ale, which he drained.

"More," he growled, shoving the empty mug and more coppers across the bar in Lloyd's direction.

Three more pints took some of the edge off the pain, but it wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough, and when he banged his mug on the bar and shouted to get Lloyd's attention from across the room, the man frowned as he approached and said warily, "Ser, I think maybe you oughtn't drink here tonight. I think you ought to be at home in yer bed."

"No," Firetooth said instantly, with enough force that Lloyd rocked back on his heels in surprise. The thought of the cold, empty and above all _silent_ house was beyond bearing. He trembled even to think of facing it. At least, not without a _lot_ more ale.

"Ser," Lloyd tried again, nervously eying his clientele and the way they were edging away from the bloody mess on the barstool, "I don't think I can serve you any more in good conscience. I really think you should go home and sleep it off-"

Firetooth lunged and caught Lloyd by the front of his ugly overalls, jerking him forward until the man was half-lying across the bar and gibbering in terror. Deadly quiet, he said, "You just want to get rid of me, don't you."

"Ah, I, uh," the bartender stammered.

"_Don't you!_" He roared into the pallid, sweating face. "Say it, I dare you!"

"You're – you're scaring the other customers!"

With a howl of anguish, Firetooth yanked the man across the bar and threw him sprawling to the sticky tavern floor. Patrons knocked their chairs over in their haste to get away. "I'm scaring them? Am I scaring you?" He picked up his empty mug and hurled it at Lloyd as the man tried to crawl away. "What about now? Scared now? Scared of the bad wolf?"

"Yes!" Lloyd whined, cringing.

"That's enough," came a voice from behind Firetooth, and a big hand fell on his shoulder.

Automatically, he spun and lashed out at the unknown assailant, catching him squarely on the nose. Bone crunched and blood spurted, and the meddler fell backward against the bar, clutching his face. He blinked his eyes clear in time to duck Firetooth's next swing and brought up his fists as blood dripped down his brown tunic.

Firetooth didn't recognize the man, the plain clothing marked him as probably a farmer or something, but he knew him anyway. Knew the contempt in his eyes. And he realized he wasn't alone in his head after all – there was a monster living where the wolf had been, and the monster paced restlessly and demanded blood payment for the all the pain and humiliation and loneliness and despair.

He ducked the man's swing, powerful but slow, and punched him again, punched him right in the mouth and relished the bite as his knuckles split and began to bleed. The man fell like an oak and Firetooth followed, screaming, and struck him again and again until nothing remained but a pulpy mass and his wrist wouldn't hold up to any more punishment. Blood had spattered the floor in a sunburst pattern and was beginning to pool and flow into the cracks in the floorboards, and the tavern was dead silent.

He dragged himself to his feet and curled his lip at the horrified men standing with their backs pressed against the wall, ashen-faced and appalled. The silence was broken by someone being sick in the corner. He turned his back on them all and staggered out into the cold, clear night.

* * *

Will hummed tunelessly to himself as he clipped through the coil of steel wire, making links for chainmail. He was supposed to have gone to bed after dinner but Owen had promised he could begin learning to work with red steel as soon as he'd finished making this viridium mail hauberk, and he really wanted to start because he had a really fantastic idea for a way to work the two metals together into a pattern that would not only be stronger but also look fabulous.

He loved his forge. Well, okay, it was Owen's forge, but Owen wasn't in it right now, and Will _was_, which made it _almost_ his, at least for the moment. He loved making things. A lot of the work was very, very repetitive and dreadfully boring, but he could tell that this was just because he was the apprentice and got all the boring jobs. Owen was The Smith and everyone respected him. Someday Will would be The Smith. Owen had nothing but praise for him, called him a prodigy and promised he would make master in half the usual time if he kept up the good work.

There had been some trouble with the Pack when he had announced he would be living with Owen now. Immediately the other boys had wanted to be apprenticed, too, and caused no end of fuss until eventually Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper managed to get the entire pack of them "apprenticed" to the castle quartermaster. That had worked for a few days until the boys realized they were just being used to carry stuff around, and then they'd lost interest and the whole thing had blown over.

He missed the Pack, and made sure to visit every day. But it wasn't as lonely as it could have been, because the forge door was almost always standing open to let in cool air, and all sorts of passersby would come in to warm up and say hello. The door was open right now, in fact, though it was late enough that nobody was likely to come in.

He paused in his work to adjust the tension of his wire snips, and then stilled, straining his ears. He could hear shouting. He put the snips down carefully on the tool bench and leaned out the door. The shouts turned to screams, then silence, and then a familiar figure stumbled out the tavern door.

Will ran toward Firetooth, who gleamed black with blood even in the dark. The man didn't seem to notice him, and walked right past, slowly and painfully. Will frowned and dashed to open the door to the tavern, where he froze at the sight before him.

_Lady have mercy. Firetooth, what have you done?_

He turned and ran after his packmate, his heart beating so hard it almost choked him. "Firetooth! Firetooth, wait!"

The battered figure didn't turn around or say anything, just came to a stop and stood hopelessly in the middle of the road.

"Firetooth," Will panted when he caught up to him. "You have to get out of here. You did a murder in there, and they hang murderers up on a rope until they die. You have to run, now!"

"I don't have anywhere to go," Firetooth moaned.

"You can go back to our old den," Will suggested. "You'd be safe there. Nobody would ever find you in our forest. Come on." He grabbed Firetooth's sleeve, carefully avoiding the hand that looked like he'd been punching a brick wall, and pulled him into the forge.

He snatched a burlap sack and stuffed in a small jar of the healing salve Owen kept on hand for forge accidents. Then he added a towel, some bandages, and a good knife. He sidled into the kitchen and snatched a fresh round of cheese, too, and finally tied the bag closed.

"Now go," Will said to the near-catatonic Firetooth, shoving the bag into his arms.

"Are you coming with me?"

"No," he said firmly. "My home is here now. But, Firetooth," his heart softened at the naked agony in the older man's eyes, "I hope you find peace."

Impulsively, Will threw his arms around his packmate. Firetooth stiffened, then clung to him like a drowning man. His shoulders shook, and Will realized the man was crying. Then he pulled away and was gone, disappearing into the night.

* * *

_I was half hoping mille libri would tell me not to post something this sad... I wasn't sure I had the guts to actually write this! *cringe* Sorry, y'all. Things will look better in the morning._


	25. What's Done

Swiftrunner listened numbly to Will's account of the previous night until the boy finished and leaned back on his chair to wait apprehensively for his response.

"You gave him your master's goods without his permission," Swiftrunner said after a while. He stood up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out some silver coins, which he handed to Will. "Tell him to come to me if that isn't enough to repay the debt. I don't want you to be in trouble with him for helping your pack."

Will took the coins uncertainly. "Th-thank you? I'm sorry for costing you money, I didn't think about... I just didn't think."

"Actually, I think you were thinking more than any of us." Swiftrunner sighed and threw himself back into his armchair. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples to hide his face for a moment. _I should have followed him. I could have brought him back before..._

He drew in a breath, composed himself with effort and looked up again. "Why didn't you come to me right away?"

Will squirmed. "I was afraid of the guards. I thought they would chase after him if they knew he had left, and I guess I was also scared they would punish me for helping him."

"I wouldn't have told them," Swiftrunner argued.

"But I was all bloody from touching him," Will said in an uncharacteristically small voice. "They would have seen."

Swiftrunner tightened his jaw and reminded himself that Will was just a boy. A boy who had already taken serious risks to help a packmate who might be beyond help, and a boy who did not deserve to be harassed with second-guessing. "All right. Thank you. You can go now."

Will scurried away, letting the door swing shut behind him, and Swiftrunner dropped his head back into his hands. Behind him, his bedroom door opened and he smelled Sundancer's light, grassy scent before she touched his shoulders. He tensed under her hands and she drew back slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If I'd let you go after him..."

She sounded like she meant it, and he felt instantly guilty for the moment of resentment he'd felt toward her. "It isn't your fault. I needed to stay and make sure you were all right, I couldn't have gone haring after him. I wouldn't be much of a mate if I was more concerned with my wayward Striker than the mother of my sons."

She perched on the arm of his chair and stroked his back in silence while he sat and stared dully at the fire. He felt like he were underwater, as though the air had become unbearably heavy and pressed him into the upholstery until he thought he might stay there until he died. After only a few minutes, though, a log settled with a shower of sparks and broke the spell, and he turned suddenly and clung to his mate, wrapping his arms her waist and clutching her to him. "What have I _done_," he moaned.

She cradled his head against her breasts and made low, soothing sounds as his shoulders shook.

"I brought us here," he said thickly, "and now the pack is falling apart. Bonecrusher's a lost cause, Gatekeeper and Will are hardly ever around, and now this. Did I make a mistake?"

"No," she said sharply, almost angrily. "No, you didn't. Our wolves died - and worse - in the Forest, too. At least now we have the chance to choose, to become something better."

She pulled away and strode back into their bedroom, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable, like she'd pulled off a bandage and exposed the raw wounds beneath. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, angry with himself for being so pathetic. Then she returned with their sleeping firstborn in her arms and slid into his lap.

"Look at your sweet boy," she said, snuggling up against his chest. "When he was a baby werewolf, he could only hope to be a werewolf. Now he is a baby human, and he can be anyone he wants. He is free. Look at him, and then tell me you still think we should live as beasts. "

He obeyed, gazing down at the peacefully dreaming cherub, the fat pink cheeks and the little pink fingers holding on so tight to the fluffy blankie. And, though he knew he was selfish, he realized he would make almost any sacrifice to secure a future for this boy.

* * *

Nightsong accepted the glass of water from Sundancer, but didn't drink, too distracted by what Swiftrunner was telling her. Finally she set the glass down on the table beside her.

"I don't understand," she said. "He's your Striker. He's _pack_. How could you just give up on him like this?"

Swiftrunner gave her a helpless look. "There are laws. And, please, you have to understand – our pack is already on fragile ground here. Teagan's packmates aren't happy about us sharing their territory, especially after what Bonecrusher did. If they get too scared, they'll try to drive us out. Then where would we go?"

"This is all my fault," she whispered. "If I hadn't rejected him-"

"Excuse me," Sundancer said sharply. "Am I missed something? Because I'm pretty sure beating an innocent man to death was _his_ idea, not yours."

"Did anybody ever _explain_ any of this to him?" Nightsong cried. She rose and began to pace across the room. "Or did we all just expect him to read our minds and know what was expected of him?"

"He knows it's not okay to go around killing at random," Sundancer scoffed.

"But I... I never..." Nightsong wrung her hands and paced some more, stopping at last in front of her tiny window. "Can I have tonight off?" she asked finally.

"Of course," the two Alphas said simultaneously. Swiftrunner took his mate's hand and led her from the room, leaving Nightsong alone.

She gazed unseeing out the mullioned window for a long time, at clouds moving in stately grace across the sky and swallows diving through the air above the barns below. Then she went to her wardrobe and pulled out her cape, throwing it around her shoulders. She walked quickly down the stairs and out the main gate, through the courtyard, across the bridge and up the front stairs of Firetooth's house.

The door swung open easily, revealing the cluttered living room she remembered. The sunlight streaming through the door and windows made the interior seem even more dingy and depressing. It stank of hopelessness. She wandered slowly through the empty house, pushing open doors to bedrooms and pantries that looked as though Firetooth had only entered them for as long as it took to scavenge any blankets or pillows for his nest in the living room. She found herself back in that one room, the only room he'd apparently used, and looking down on the blanket nest.

There was a lump in the center of the nest. Kneeling, she pulled back the top blanket to see what he'd hidden, and went very still.

When she'd been given her new dresses, she'd forgotten about her old tunic, the one she'd worn on the long trip out from the Forest. She hadn't even noticed it was missing, but here it was, enshrined protectively in his bed as though it were the only thing in the whole building that he valued.

* * *

Firetooth limped steadily southward until he reached the Imperial Highway, then turned west and plodded on. The blood dried slowly on his clothing and became sticky, then stiff, and chafed on his bruises; his knee gradually went numb and, between that and the worsening dizziness, he began stumbling over every crack in the paving. A shift in the wind brought a scent of smoke and blood from the south, but he ignored it since he was helpless to do anything about it.

Shivering, he squinted east at the cruelly beautiful dawn and wondered if it were safe to rest. Then, because he'd taken his eyes off the road, _of course_ he encountered an exceptionally uneven stone. He tripped, staggered and went down on one knee, his good knee by the Lady's grace, but still it hurt like the blazes and nausea swelled in his belly as he breathed several long, slow breaths to steady himself.

Okay, clearly he wasn't going any further. Must find a safe place to den for a few hours... He looked but saw little except rolling fields and, in the distance, a pall of greasy smoke hanging over the horizon. Then he remembered having crossed a small river, narrow but deep, only a short time ago.

Firetooth turned around and limped back to the bridge, eased himself down the riverbank, and crawled gratefully into the hidden darkness under the bridge. His stomach growled and he opened the sack Will had given him. A rush of sorrow filled him as he remembered his packmate's kindness; he would probably never see him again. He blinked hard, determined not to break down yet, and rummaged around for the cheese.

His hand came out with the small jar instead. Curiously, he opened it and sniffed at the goop inside. After a moment's thought, he realized with a flood of relief that it smelled like Morrigan's magical healing goop, and he smeared it liberally over his knee, the huge lump on his head and his battered right hand. Almost immediately, the pain began to fade.

He devoured the cheese and rolled himself up into a tight ball, tugging the sack over him like a tiny blanket, and slept the sleep of the dead.

…...

"I'm so sorry, girl. Really I am."

Firetooth stirred groggily sometime in the afternoon when a man standing on the bridge above him began talking. He stared blankly up at the stone underside of the bridge, slow to wake, while the man continued to speak.

"But I don't got a lot of options. We barely got out of the village with our lives, and I can't even afford to feed my own son, much less a half-breed puppy. Last spring, when I saw you come out of your beautiful mama," here the man's voice cracked with emotion, "and she were so proud o' her first pup, and there you were all freckled like a spaniel and obviously not a pure mabari, well... I wanted to do right by you, but I can't. I just can't. I can't feed you and watch my own baby starve, and I can't find anyone else who'll take in a mongrel, and... and this way... This way it'll be quick and merciful. No dyin' slowly of hunger, no bein' et alive by darkspawn."

A frightened whine, and the sound of a heavy stone scraping across the bridge railing.

"Well... I guess this is goodbye. Sleep well, my sweet pup..."

The man's words choked off in a sob, and Firetooth watched as a bundle was pushed off the bridge, tied to a stone. The bundle sank into the frigid water and the strange man fled, and for a moment Firetooth just looked at the bubbles rising from under the waters until, with a jolt of comprehension, his foggy brain cleared and he threw off his jacket and plunged into the river.

He groped blindly over the river bottom until he found the weakly struggling bundle and tried to lift it. The damned rock was amazingly heavy, though, and he couldn't get the thing to move more than a few inches with the river's current buffeting him. He surfaced for another breath, then went back to fight with the string holding the sack closed, his hands shaking with urgency, until he got his fingers into the opening and yanked on it with one desperate heave.

The drawstring snapped and he thrust his hands into the sack, coming out with a dark, limp body, which he carried to shore and laid out on the dry ground. For a moment he knelt over it in panic, no idea what to do next, and then the dog coughed up an impossible amount of river water and curled feebly into a ball, shivering and coughing fitfully.

Her wet fur was mostly dark brown, but her legs were white and covered in tiny brown spots. He supposed that must have been what the would-be murderer meant by "freckled like a spaniel." Her body was also slimmer than a mabari's, and her ears were longer and floppier, her tail and belly trimmed with longer fur like a fringe. She was lanky and half-grown, with broad, clumsy paws, and looked surprisingly well cared-for, considering she'd been living with a cold-hearted bastard.

Speaking of cold, she could still die if he didn't warm her, quickly. He lifted her into his arms, ignoring her whimpers, and carried her to the edge of the bridge's shadow, leaning out to look for any sign of her previous owner, or guards who might be hunting him. He didn't see anyone nearby, but perhaps a half-mile away a small village had sprung up while he slept. Thin pillars of smoke rose from campfires ringed by tents that were little more than cloaks propped up on sticks, and women and children huddled near the warmth while a pathetically small number of men stood around the perimeter, holding pitchforks, hunting bows, and knives. More than half of the "guards" wore bloodied bandages somewhere on their bodies.

_Darkspawn_. The murderer had mentioned darkspawn, and a ruined village. Firetooth had had no idea the raids came so close to his territory. Damn it, _this_ was his territory – the arling of Redcliffe's border was still a few miles away. Which meant that Redcliffe's soldiers would be here soon, to look for the raiders. Maybe even his own pack!

The momentary surge of excitement quickly evaporated into hot shame as he remembered why he was here, alone, instead of finishing the afternoon's training with Ser Perth and the rest of his packmates. His arms tightened around the puppy and he slumped against a bridge pylon where the slanting sunlight could fall on the dog and dry her quickly.

This wasn't his territory. Not anymore.

"And it's not yours either, is it," he said quietly to the dog. She flicked her ears and opened her eyes to look up at him. "Not a mabari, but not just a normal dog, either. Not welcome among humans, but not fully a beast. It's okay. Neither am I."

She whined softly and closed her eyes again, turning her muzzle toward the sun.


	26. Hope

_Hi all! Sorry for the slow updates lately... stubborn characters are stubborn :( Thank you so much for your patience, and thanks to mille libri for super-zoom betaing!_

* * *

Ser Perth watched the men in Swiftrunner's company running their movement drills, and it almost brought tears to his eyes as the two formation wedges of skirmishers wheeled and flowed over the grassy field with precision, rounding up an imaginary enemy and driving it into an ambush by the squad's limited number of armored swordsmen. He squinted in the sun, wondering anew at the state of Bonecrusher's face, but whatever had happened to him didn't stop him from leading the rest of the swordsmen as they sprang up from their prone position to intercept the nonexistent foe.

"Well done, all," Perth bellowed to be heard across the field. "Back to your place. We're going to run a few figure-eights. I noticed some stragglers on the tight turns..."

He trailed off and held his hand up to shade his eyes. A cloud of dust rose from the road back to the castle, and soon a man on a horse came into view, moving at a ground-eating canter. The men drifted over, abandoning their formations in their curiosity as the Redcliffe-liveried rider trotted to a stop and saluted to Perth.

"Well met," Perth acknowledged the salute with a nod. "What is it?"

"Bad news, ser," the messenger said with a shake of his head. He looked pale and frightened, twisting his horse's reins with nervous fingers. "Darkspawn have struck again, and deep this time. Many casualties. My lords Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan requested you return and hear the report yourself."

Perth's hands felt cold with dread. Was it the Horde? So soon? Could they hope to contact the Gray Wardens? He forced himself to appear relaxed and confident in front of his men, however, and smiled encouragingly at the messenger. "Very good. Tell my lord I will attend him soon."

"Take my horse, ser, if you don't mind," the messenger said quickly, dismounting. "I can walk back easily enough."

Perth clapped him on the back in thanks and vaulted into the saddle. He raised his voice, calling out as he turned the prancing horse around, "Men, you're dismissed. Go back to Redcliffe Castle, get an early supper and stay within the castle environs, if you please."

With that, he leaned forward in the saddle and pressed his knees into the horse's sides, and they were off in a clatter of hooves.

The two brother lords awaited him in Eamon's study, wearing identical grim expressions. Sitting hunched on a chair before them was a travel-stained young man of perhaps fifteen years, wringing the brim of his straw hat. He looked up at Perth with huge eyes, like a worried rabbit.

"Ser Perth, thank you for joining us," Eamon said, inclining his head. "I felt it important you hear this brave young man's testimony yourself."

"There's nowt much to tell," the boy mumbled. "Darkspawn came on us in the night. They burned, and killed, and r... r... They took the women. They took my mother. She screamed."

He faded off into some terrifying world of his own, staring into the middle distance. Teagan's brow creased and he shot his brother an angry look. "I'm sure we can inform the knight captain of the situation ourselves. There's no need to make the lad recount the whole thing, is there?"

Eamon sighed heavily. "No. Clearly the strain is too much. Take him to a guest room, will you?"

Teagan led the boy gently from the room and Eamon motioned for Perth to take his seat before he began recounting the disaster. "The largest party of darkspawn we've seen thus far has come within a day's march of the castle. We cannot allow them to travel at will, pillaging our farmers when they are most vulnerable. We _need_ this harvest, and the farmers cannot simply hide inside their Chantries and wait for the darkspawn to leave, not if they want to eat this winter."

"Death now, or death later," Perth said, low. "A terrible choice. What should we do?"

"I think it's time to test your new mobile force," the Arl said with a smile, leaning back in his chair. He still looked pale and thin after his long illness, but considering what had happened to him, Perth was glad his Arl had made it through with so little injury.

Ser Perth inclined his head respectfully. "My lord. Was the lad able to give an accurate count of the enemy's numbers?"

Arl Eamon shook his head sadly. "I fear he may still be somewhat confused. He described what sounded like a small raiding party, but insisted there were at least a hundred of the beasts when asked for a count. Regardless, the Redcliffe militia and regular soldiers have proven unequal to the task of controlling these raiders, and we are out of time. Do what you can, Ser, to protect our good citizens. Hunt down the beasts before they strike again."

"Yes, my lord." Perth bowed and started from the room.

"And, Perth," Arl Eamon called after him. "May the Maker watch over you."

He paused in the doorway. "May He watch over us all."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay here with Sundancer?" Gatekeeper asked, trying to hide his desperation.

Swiftrunner scowled. "Of course I _want_ you to stay with her, but I _need _you to come and help us. We're down a troop leader, remember? Enough arguing. Anyone would think you were _afraid_ of the darkspawn, the way you're carrying on. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing." Gatekeeper ducked his head in apology. "May I have an hour to, ah, fetch my gear?"

The alpha shifted his shoulders irritably. "Fine. But we've been asked to move out at once, so don't take too long. This is our first opportunity to repay Teagan and everyone else for what they've done for our pack."

Swiftrunner strode away into the barracks, shouting at someone for packing his bag wrong and at someone else for not wearing his boots. They were all tense and nervous, not about the danger so much as the necessity to perform well at their first task. Gatekeeper turned and broke into a run, heading out the castle gate toward his house, worried for an entirely different reason.

Conceivably, they might catch the darkspawn band, destroy them, and make it home again before dinner tomorrow. Much more likely, however, they would be chasing the monsters all over the countryside for days – and the odds were good that there was more than one of these bands, too, each needing to be hunted down and ground into the dirt. He might not be back for days, _weeks_. He jumped up the front steps to his house, breathing hard, and fumbled to unlock the door before stumbling inside.

The living room was dark and still, and he gave himself a few moments to relax and compose himself rather than storming around the house like a scary beast. Then he walked into the kitchen and hummed softly. A little face with huge eyes poked up from a crack in the pillow fort, breaking into a broad smile. He was home early. She disappeared only to crawl out the front of her den, one hand clutching her stuffed dog with her horrible blankie tied around its neck like an incredibly ugly kerchief, the other hand held out imperiously for her treat.

"Uh," he said, frantically patting his pockets, and came up with a pebble laced with glittering mica that he'd found during their drills today. He held it out, and she examined it critically before taking it and dropping it into a pocket.

He knelt and opened his arms, hoping against hope that she would come willingly. He'd pushed rather hard at this barrier in order to give her a bath and change her clothes. He didn't _think_ he'd upset her too badly, but still... He breathed a sigh of relief when she leaned against his chest, hugging her dog, and allowed him to pick her up without protest.

He carried her to the front door, where he stopped, torn. He couldn't keep her hidden forever, and the time to take a chance had come whether he liked it or not – she needed to be cared for in his absence, that was not negotiable. But discreet inquiries had informed him that orphans were the responsibility of the Chantry, and the Reverend Mother Hannah had no fondness for him or his pack of heathens who had yet to attend a single worship service. What if she found out, and took his girl away?

Could he bear to lose her? How many pieces can a heart break into, and still keep beating? Would the tiny fragments blow away with the leaves in the late autumn wind?

She squirmed in his arms and he realized he was holding her too tight, and made himself relax and push open the door. This wasn't about him. Had never been about him.

His girl squinted in the bright sun and brought her stuffed dog up over her eyes as he carried her briskly across the dry grass toward the large farmhouse a short distance up the road. The wagon full of Allan Farrier's tools was gone, so the man must be out working; he passed the barn and climbed up onto the broad front porch, tapping on the door with an elbow since his hands were full.

A small dog barked, and then he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Finally the door opened to reveal Frieda's round, smiling face. She wore an apron and her sleeves were rolled up past the elbows, and when she reached up to push her bangs back she left a streak of white flour across her forehead.

"Well," she said cheerfully after a moment of surprised silence, "we were wondering when you'd bring her over to visit. Come on in."

"What – you – you knew?" Gatekeeper stammered in shock, allowing himself to be pulled into her sitting room. The little spotted hound dog sniffed at his feet, huffing softly.

"It's right hard to keep secrets from your next-door neighbors, and it weren't an easy secret to keep, neither, what with you always bringing in more food than one man eats. And the toys are a bit of a giveaway," she added with a grin. "My Wilbur were dead sure Aliss had survived that awful night, so we put one and one together and made two. Excuse me a minute, I'm just putting the bread in."

Gatekeeper lowered himself into a lumpy chair that smelled of horse. The girl clutched her toy dog even more tightly, but she was looking where Frieda had gone and didn't seem too worried. Maybe she recognized her neighbor.

"Sorry about that," Frieda said as she bustled back from the kitchen, dusting her hands off on her apron. "Now, what can I getcha? I've got fresh doughnuts, and some stew still on the fire from last night. Milk for the little one? No?"

"Actually," he said uncomfortably, "I need your help. I've been given orders – my men are marching under Ser Perth to hunt a darkspawn raiding party, and I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. Do you think-"

"Of course," Frieda said immediately. "Can't leave the poor little thing alone. Honestly, you should have let her stay by us when you were at work during the day. We didn't want to say, but, well..."

"She's, uh, she's not quite, um," Gatekeeper fumbled for the words. "She doesn't talk, and she's very easily frightened. At first, she would run away from me, so I couldn't take her outside. She's much better now, though," he added with pride.

"Oh." Frieda peered more closely at the girl. "Well, all right. Where are her things?"

"She's been staying in a den made of pillows and blankets in my kitchen," he explained. "Do you think I could just give you my key, and you could just come by and-"

"What? In a pillow fort?" Frieda frowned a little. "Where'd she piss?"

"I gave her a bucket."

She snorted. "That does, I suppose. But no, I can't just come by and feed her. It ain't like I'm watering your houseplants! You leave her here with me, she'll be fine. Won't you, honey? You remember me, dontcha?"

Frieda leaned down to smile at her; the girl whimpered and hid her face against Gatekeeper's shoulder.

"I see what you mean," Frieda said after a moment. "If you leave her here, I guess she's like to scream bloody murder until you get back. Tell you what. She's used to staying at your place, how about you leave her there for now and I'll come over in a bit and we'll make friends. I suppose, if I have to, I can sleep in your house for a while."

"Please," Gatekeeper said fervently. "That would be wonderful."

Frieda's good-humored expression took on a fierce edge. "And I don't think there's any need to tell the Chantry. We don't need them takin' her off to be a Templar, now, do we?"

Gatekeeper could have wept with gratitude, but instead he said, "I was thinking maybe I could tell people she's mine?"

She nodded. "Sure. By the time she's ready to go out in public again she'll have grown so much, I doubt anyone will recognize her. She'll need a new name, though."

Gatekeeper looked down at the little girl, who was watching Frieda warily, and thought about it for a long moment. "Can we call her Hope?"

Frieda's face creased in a broad grin. "Aye, that'll do."


	27. Cleanup

Nightsong flopped backwards onto the musty horsehair couch and surveyed the house Firetooth had left behind. It looked a lot nicer than it had that morning. The cobwebs and dust were swept away, the empty bottles and assorted rubbish lay in a bin out back, and she'd even had a go at sweeping the floor and washing the windows, like she'd seen the maids do in the castle.

Now the door stood wide, propped open by a chair, the lake breeze stirred the curtains and blew a small dried leaf across the floor to spin in lazy circles in a corner, and Nightsong was tired. Housework was called _work_ for a reason, apparently. She could see why Teagan paid other people to do it for him.

But knowing this house was out here, lying fallow as messy as a bear's den, had weighed on her mind like wet clothing and so she had come out to clean up Firetooth's mess. Nothing she could do would fully erase the stain of their mistakes here, even though Will had assured her that the blood had scrubbed clean from the tavern floor quite nicely, but at least the house was livable.

And... it was hers. Teagan had assured her in no uncertain terms that the house belonged to her and had even let her write her name on a thick piece of paper that was now safely filed away in Arl Eamon's library. In fact, he had seemed excited about it, told her she was "her own woman," though she wasn't sure yet what that meant.

So far, it meant her heart felt as empty as her bed.

A noise outside slowly grew until it intruded itself upon her doze. She sat up and turned her ear to the open door, listening, then stood and went out onto the porch.

A crowd of strangers were plodding down the hill towards the Chantry. She frowned at them, taking in the disproportionate number of women and children, their exhausted faces, the bloody bandages, and the ones who dragged behind, limping and shivering, while the main body of the group entered the Chantry. Immediately, several women in Chantry robes and a few servants rushed out to help the injured ones; when Nightsong recognized Valena among them, she pulled on her shoes and trotted down the hill to ask what was going on.

"Refugees," the maid said shortly, laboring under the weight of an elderly woman she was helping up the Chantry steps. "Teagan sent us down to help make ready."

Nightsong took the woman's other arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. "Refugees? From the Blight?"

"Thanks," Valena grunted. The old woman was heavier than she looked, and glassy-eyed with fatigue. "Yeah, darkspawn sacked their village. You oughta know about that, your Commander Swiftrunner has gone out to teach 'em a lesson. Meantime, we get to care for the wounded and find them a safe place to sleep."

Nightsong felt a surge of pride at knowing her packmates were doing something important, the glow of which lasted until she and Valena pushed through the Chantry doors and encountered a pale woman with a toddler in tow.

"You!" the woman cried and pointed at Nightsong. "You gotta lot of nerve, coming down to the Chantry with other decent folk!"

Nightsong stumbled, confused, but recovered enough to help Valena set the refugee down on a woolen mat to rest. "Excuse me? I don't-"

"One o' you barbarians murdered my Rick! Beat him to death, not a quarter mile from here!" The woman was in full voice now, her chest inflated with fury, and she glared at Nightsong in between glances around the room to make sure everyone was listening, that everyone knew what Nightsong's mate had done.

"Lady's mercy, I'm so sorry-"

"Lady? Some slut of a woods spirit? You're a bunch of godless savages," Rick's widow snarled. Her toddler's little face screwed up and he began to wail, burying his face in her skirts. "You ain't never been in this Chantry for worship, not once. No, you just sit up there in the castle like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, living off _our_ taxes and _our_ hard work, and don't lift a finger to help, no, you're nothing but trouble and pain!"

She ran out of breath and stopped, scooping up her wailing son and holding him close as though protecting him from the bad wolf. Nightsong blinked in shock, never having considered what she and her pack looked like from the outside.

"That's – that's not true," she protested. "We're helping! Our men are out hunting darkspawn right now!"

"Fat lot of good that does _us_," the widow sneered, meaning herself and all the others in the Chantry who had lost so much. "That your _men_ are killing things. That's just what we need, more dead bodies."

"I don't know, I think we could all do with a lot more dead darkspawn." Valena pushed past them with an armload of linens. "Like, say, all of them."

The widow scowled angrily at her for making light, but Nightsong gratefully took the encouragement. "Yes! We're all working together here, right? We're all fighting the darkspawn. None of us will be safe until they're all dead. And – and we'll help," she added with sudden inspiration. "We need space, right? For people to sleep? I have a house!"

"Are you volunteering your house?"

Nightsong spun to see Mother Hannah bearing down on her. "Yes? Would it help? I don't really know what to do with it."

Mother Hannah nodded swiftly. "Yes. Space is badly needed, and it will only get worse. I have word from other chantries to the south that the Horde is moving, and we should expect a steady stream of refugees. We especially need safe space for the children. The Chantry is not the best location for very young children, having too many... breakable things, and the nearest monastery is some distance from here."

"'Ere, now, you can't trust the likes of her with people's babes," Rick's widow said in outrage, clutching her own even tighter.

"I doubt she intends to cook them up in a stew," the overworked Mother snapped. "I won't have fighting in the Maker's house, and I won't turn away an offer of help so badly needed. Valena, take two of the lay sisters and help her get the space ready. Quickly, now. Once everyone is settled, send for some porridge, we have a great pot of it on the boil."

Rick's widow sputtered a little, but she was clearly in awe of Mother Hannah and the Mother's reprimand cowed. She subsided into silence but followed Nightsong with her furious gaze as she beat a hasty retreat, fervently hoping she would never meet the woman alone in the dark somewhere.

The remainder of Nightsong's evening passed in a noisy blur of hard work. There were nappies to be changed and wounds to be washed. Sometimes, sorrowfully, both on the same tiny body. And until the Blight sickness began to show itself in lesions and fever, all the refugees had to be treated as potentially infected, necessitating an elaborate system of safety checks to keep possibly tainted bandages safe until they could be burned. Eventually the sick could be quarantined. Nightsong watched a mother cradle her whimpering infant son, sponging blood from a bite mark on her leg, and dreaded the inevitable separation.

The last makeshift cot was filled sometime after darkness had fallen, and Nightsong was stumbling tired as she pulled on her cape and made ready to return to the castle. She didn't notice Teagan standing on her porch and jumped when she bumped into him, almost tripping down the stairs in her surprise.

* * *

Teagan caught her arm before she fell and smiled at her. "I hear you've been working hard," he said as he steadied her. "I stopped by the Chantry to speak to Mother Hannah and she said you'd volunteered your space. That was quite noble of you."

"Oh, I suppose." She looked up at him, the moon reflected in her luminous eyes. "I just... Well, I feel like I haven't been doing enough. I've been sitting in the castle like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, or so they say. I'm going to talk to Sundancer. We should all be helping."

"You shouldn't worry yourself," Teagan told her with another smile. He tucked her hand under his arm because she seemed so tired, he was afraid she would stumble. "You and your friends are my guests. Speaking of which, are you returning to the castle? May I walk you?"

"Yes." She lowered her eyes demurely, leaving him wanting. He wanted to see her look up at him again, and was about to speak when she asked, "My lord, where does the food in the castle come from?"

"I think we can dispense with the 'my lord,'" he said genially. "Call me Teagan. As for the food, well, it comes from my brother's larder. To head off your next question, the food in the larder comes from his freeholders – the farmers. They give a certain amount of their produce to Eamon, as their lord."

He could see her brow wrinkle slightly as she worried that over, and wondered if she really did want a treatise on feudal economics or if there was something else bothering her. They had come to the edge of the castle bridge before she spoke again. "Why do they do that? What does Eamon do for them in return?"

"Why, he is their lord," Teagan repeated, slightly bemused, but he wasn't quite as blind to politics as he often pretended and he hoped he wasn't going to have to talk her out of trying to start some sort of democratic revolution.

"Yes, but what does that mean," she insisted, and looked up at him again, wide and earnest. "It's not the same as our Alpha, most of those men and women he has never even met. My lord – Teagan, I'm not just your guest anymore. I live here. This is my territory, and I need to know how it works. Someone said to me that we're living off of other people's hard work and giving nothing in return. Is that true?"

"Certainly not," he said, suppressing his indignation by reminding himself she didn't understand how things worked in Ferelden. He wanted to explain, to show her how seriously he took the people's welfare. "My brother and I, like all good lords, protect and govern our people. It is our duty to defend them against all threats, whether they be bandits, another lord's aggression, a Blight, or even something so subtle and insidious as a famine or a plague. And you, my dear, are my guest."

She considered his words while they walked through the castle courtyard, and when they came to the corridor where she would turn to go upstairs to the guest rooms, he stopped her. "Nightsong, have you eaten properly? I know how easy it is to forget one's own needs while caring for others."

She laughed, melodic and compelling, and said, "No, not what I would really call food. We had peas porridge with a bit of lamb so small you could choke on it."

"Listen," he said, leaning towards her with a smile, "I know you're tired, but a nice supper would surely do you good. Please, allow me to order a meal brought to us in the library and I shall do my best to properly explain how things are done here in Ferelden."

She considered his proposal for a moment, looking over her shoulder at Sundancer's suite, while he waited in hope. He was sincere in his desire to care for his guest and answer her questions, but he could not deny that he had other motivations as well. Any guilt he had felt over pursuing a liaison with this dark beauty had lightened with each cruel act of her barbaric "mate" and had dropped away entirely when the man had committed murder and then disappeared.

She turned back to him with a vulpine smile. "That would be nice."

He subdued his grin into a debonair smile and led her towards the library, flagging down a butler as he went and ordering some delicacies and a sweet port. He had a well-deserved reputation as an excellent hunter and not just because of his skill with boar spear and bow – he asked for port because he remembered her complaining of the sourness of regular wine. Of course, whatever they had together couldn't last long, but he felt sure they could do each other a world of good if they seized what time they could and made the most of it.

Nightsong fell upon the meal when it arrived with gratifying enthusiasm. Too often, he reflected, the high-class women of court would pick daintily at their food or refuse it entirely out of some silly notion that appetite was unladylike. Personally, he liked to see a woman enjoying herself, regardless of the reasons.

To that end, he endeavored to satisfy her curiosity, shifting from bald fact to embellished story when her interest was piqued by the events of the Ferelden war of liberation and, later, of Andraste and her Exalted March. He worked his way around to an account of what had befallen Redcliffe so recently, and managed to spin enough black humor from the undead attacks to make her shake with laughter while blushing at herself for finding it funny. When he noticed the way her laughter caused some _very_ interesting motion in the chest area, he felt his ears flush with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment more appropriate to a teenage schoolboy than a man of mature years and means.

"Oh no," she said suddenly, looking out the window where the fat moon had swung into the sky. "It's so late. I should really get to bed. I'm supposed to help my mistress tomorrow morning."

"I'll ask one of the maids to help her," Teagan said quickly.

She shook her head. "I still need to get to bed." She stood up and reached for her cape where it hung on a coat rack, and when she turned back Teagan was there to stop her with a light touch on the arm.

He let his voice drop an octave as he trailed his fingertips down over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. "You know, you don't have to go to bed alone."

She stood very still, her eyes wide. "W-what do you mean?"

He smiled, delighted with her coyness, and leaned down to press a soft kiss on those irresistible red lips.

* * *

Nightsong froze in shock and confusion as Bann Teagan kissed her. She had no idea how to respond. Teagan was an Alpha, and her pack owed him an irreparable debt for welcoming them into the new territory. If she refused him, he might be offended, even angry. Even the thought of refusal was new and frightening when before she had always known that if a dominant male wanted her, he could take her.

She could do a lot worse than Bann Teagan for a mate, that was certain. He was charming and handsome, and very, very nice to her. Swiftrunner almost certainly wouldn't mind. Accepting his offer would be the best and safest thing to do, for her and for the pack.

So why did she hesitate?

Teagan pulled back, his smile fading. "I... I am sorry, my lady. Have I misinterpreted our relationship?"

"I can't," she cried, and was mortified when her vision swam with tears and she had to hide her face in her cape. She wasn't ready to mate again, she just couldn't. Instead, she braced herself with resignation for a shout or a blow, which never came.

"I am truly, truly sorry," he said softly. "It's too soon. I should have restrained myself. Please, shall we forget I ever made such a shameful mistake? I would hate for there to be bad blood between us."

Nightsong uncovered her face to give him a slightly suspicious look. He seemed to be taking this too well. "You don't... mind?"

"I would have sunk even lower if I dared to complain," he said with a laugh.

"Wait, but I thought you wanted..." She paused, wondering why she was pushing, then forged on anyway. "I thought you wanted me f-for a mate."

"Mate?" Teagan looked taken aback, not in command for the first time. "My lady, I-" He stopped with an ironic laugh. "_I'm sorry_ hardly seems sufficient. I never meant to give you such an impression. I am a Bann, and my brother's wife and heir are lost to Redcliffe. I have to think about the continuation of the name of Guerrin, and make my choice of wife based on what's best for the family, not my own preferences."

"What?" Nightsong drew herself up, her fear and confusion transforming into indignation. "You _don't_ want me for a mate? But you were going to – to take me anyway? How could you!"

Teagan turned away, passing a hand over his face with a groan. "Clearly I have made a royal mess of things. I meant only to offer you pleasure and enjoyment. We are both... alone, and I thought... But, now I think it would be best if I took my leave. Please, my lady, take no offense. I meant none."

He left out the library door and she heard his footsteps as he walked heavily towards his own rooms. The candle guttered in the door's draft and went out, and she stood for a long time alone in the moonlight. Then exhaustion settled over her, physical and emotional, and she made herself go to her room and throw herself down on the bed, not bothering to do any more than loosen the ties of her bodice.

* * *

_I'm back :) So sorry for the long wait! Looking at updates every other week now, alternating with my other story (The Great Escape). Thank you for your patience with me as I get back on track. Special thanks to mille libri for multiple rounds of helpful betaing, and to all of you for reading, favoriting, alerting and especially reviewing!_


	28. Twilight

Jerome and the rooster stared at each other. A bird can stare better than any other animal, though, and Jerome blinked first. The rooster fluffed his feathers insolently.

"Look," Jerome said. "I'm not gonna hurt the hens. I just want the eggs."

The rooster was unimpressed.

"Come on," Jerome said, getting annoyed. "I fed you and everything. Go on, get out of the way." He waved his hands threateningly.

The rooster drew himself up and glared, raising his tail high. His long, curved talon spurs gleamed.

"Don't make me get daddy," Jerome warned. That was his trump card. His daddy wasn't scared of any rooster, not even one as ornery as this. It was an empty threat – his parents had gone to the village today for supplies, leaving Jerome home alone – but the rooster didn't know that. The rooster flattened his feathers and crouched slightly, as though cowed. Jerome grinned and walked past him towards the nest boxes.

The hens were silent, hunkered down low over the straw and staring at the coop door. Jerome looked at the birds, then turned around, slowly, afraid he might see a wolf or a fox. What he saw instead was much, much worse.

The genlock leered at him, baring its snaggle teeth in a hideous grin, and Jerome froze. The horrible monster's nostrils flared as though it smelled his terror, and its grin widened. Then it spied the hens in their nest boxes, and its dead eyes lit up hungrily. It took two quick steps forward and snatched up the closest hen. She struggled and beat her wings, and the monster grabbed at her with its other hand, trying to wring her neck.

The rooster exploded.

Shrieking in avian fury, he launched himself off the coop floor directly at the monster's face, feathers flying and talons extended. The monster grunted in surprise and dropped the hen, throwing up its hands to bat at the furious bird. The rooster struck viciously at the monster's arm and used it as a springboard, leaping again at the creature's face, screaming and striking at its head with his wings.

The monster scrambled backward into the farmyard, the insane bird chasing after it with madly flapping wings. It fumbled for a sword at its waist, and the rooster seized the opening. The bloody spurs slashed once, twice, and the genlock roared with pain, grabbed the rooster and threw him away from its face. The rooster tumbled in midair, righted himself, and fluttered to the ground, victorious.

Jerome watched in fascinated horror as the monster stumbled blindly around the farmyard, one hand clasped over its ruined eyes, the other swinging its sword in aimless rage. The rooster strutted proudly back into his coop, pausing only to preen a broken feather. Then Jerome looked past the monster and saw the smoke rising in the distance.

He ran, dodging the monster's blind swipe, to the paddock. His pony raised her head and trotted over, whickering anxiously. He threw open the paddock gate, vaulted onto her back, gripped a fistful of mane and dug his heels into her ribs. She broke into a gallop and they ran, fleeing the smoke, and didn't stop until they reached the safety of the Chantry's walls.

* * *

The hurlock's howl dissolved into a choking gurgle as Swiftrunner's short sword slashed across its neck and it fell, clawing at its throat. Tainted blood fountained between its fingers and spattered the wheat that lay abandoned on the stubbled earth. Beside the ruined sheaf sprawled the body of the farmer Swiftrunner had been too late to save.

The Alpha spat out a curse and turned away, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead to smear away the drops of darkspawn blood before they ran into his eyes. He forced his tiring body into a long lope, heading for the screams and the clashing of steel inside the cattle barn. The kerchief that protected his mouth and nose was soaked with sweat and worse; he tugged it down to gulp a few breaths of fresh air as he ran, then pulled it back up over his face as he neared the barn.

The big doors burst open and a herd of bawling, terrified dairy cows stampeded out of it. Swiftrunner threw himself aside, landing hard in the dirt, and the flashing hooves thundered past him. Behind the herd came Gatekeeper, bellowing and slapping the rumps of the stragglers to hurry them up, and behind _him_ came a furious axe-wielding hurlock.

Swiftunner ambushed it as it passed him, smacking his blade into the back of its ankle, and it fell with a snarl when the tendon snapped. Gatekeeper spun at the sound and sidestepped a clumsy swipe of its axe, then lunged and ran it through.

"What an embarrassing way to lose my Gatekeeper," Swiftrunner said, getting to his feet. "How would I tell Sundancer you died for a bunch of _cows_?"

"I like cows," Gatekeeper growled. "And there will be famine enough as it is, without writing them off as collateral damage in the fight with the darkspawn."

"Speaking of darkspawn," Swiftrunner said with a nod towards the battle that raged within, and the two of them ran into the darkness of the barn.

The darkspawn felt no fear. They could not be set and chased like deer, driven into ambush by the pack; instead, they had to be lured by the promise of prey. They felt no pain, either, or if they did it merely infuriated them. They ignored mortal wounds and continued to fight and claw and thrash until their heart stopped. They did not stop fighting and flee in the face of defeat to preserve their remaining fighters. They did not care for fallen comrades or return for their dead.

As far as Swiftrunner was concerned, this meant they were not truly alive. He did not kill darkspawn; he ended them.

He and Gatekeeper joined a knot of their own pack and bolstered their courage; together, they trapped the darkspawn and forced them back towards the rest of the pack, fighting under Perth and Bonecrusher at the far side of the long barn. The two groups caught the darkspawn raiders between them and ground them into the dirt.

When the last darkspawn fell to the floor, bleeding from a dozen wounds, Swiftrunner led his men out into the sun before the blood had even stopped flowing.

"Was that the last of them?" he asked Perth.

"I believe so," Ser Perth replied. "There may be a few stragglers, but I believe we were successful in containing the main body of the raiders in one area."

"Time to strip and wash, then," Swiftrunner shouted to his men. "Search for wounds."

It was working. Praise to the Lady, it was working, at least so far, most of the time. The sun was the key. Sunlight was life, the source of everything strong and good, whereas the darkspawn taint... The taint was rot, and decay, and corruption, and it could not survive the sun's light for long. As long as bloodied water was not allowed to soak into the earth and fester, Swiftrunner had hope that the land would soon be productive again.

They stripped and laid their clothing and gear in the sun to dry. Naked, the men wiped down and examined themselves and each other for broken skin. Wounds were cleaned and scrubbed and not allowed to scab over until their own blood had washed out any poison, and then the injury was laid bare to the sky. It hurt, and they were cold in the late autumn wind, but they'd lost only one man so far to darkspawn sickness.

Swiftrunner had put the man down himself, but they had all helped dig the grave.

Those who had survived unscathed dressed again in their tainted clothes and went about the bloody business of gathering the dead for a pyre. There, anything stained with tainted blood would be burned along with the darkspawn themselves, sending a black, greasy plume of smoke into the sky.

Gatekeeper had come up with a ritual for that part, a song for their pack to sing while on this grisly road. It was a variant on their traditional pre-hunting howl, and it meant, basically, "See this cloud. Hear this fire. Smell this smoke, and start running. We're coming for you next."

* * *

Firetooth and the dog walked on through blasted earth. Black trees twisted up towards the sky in mute entreaty; black dirt was churned into mud by the late autumn rain; black leaves drifted in hollows, curled up like dead spiders.

When at last they arrived at Orayan's Crossing, he barely recognized the market town. The booths were gone, the colorful tents struck, and the only sign of life was a caravan being assembled on Bann Entorell's front lawn. Firetooth had no desire to visit the caravan and directed his feet onto the road into the forest, but the dog had other ideas.

The Bann had a kennel, apparently, and a pack of mabari with particularly elegant golden-colored coats were sitting at attention near the front of the caravan, each beside their master, looking down their noses at a gamboling crowd of foxhounds. Firetooth's dog went still when she saw them, one paw in the air and her short, fringed tail all a-quiver. She ignored the foxhounds, her eyes fixed on the golden mabari war dogs.

Firetooth looked at the purebred mabari and winced. He recognized the attitude, the looks on their aristocratically rugged faces, and he remembered being the awkward, unwelcome one. "No," he told the dog, wanting to spare her the pain of their rejection. "We're not stopping. Come on."

His dog ignored him, taking a step towards the mabari.

"_No_," he snapped, his temper rising, and reached for her collar. She danced effortlessly out of his reach. "I said no!" he shouted and lunged after her. She let her tongue loll out as she laughed at him, then darted across the manicured grass towards the other dogs.

"Dog! Stop!" he shouted, but she ignored him. Firetooth swore and started across the grass after her.

The foxhounds saw her and scampered over to investigate the newcomer, baying excitedly, but the golden mabari didn't react at all. She faltered and came to a stop, oblivious to the mob of foxhounds sniffing her tail, and whined, her forepaws dancing eagerly in the grass. When that didn't get a reaction, she play-bowed and bounced around, and when that didn't work either, she made a teasing dart at the closest mabari.

The mabari's muscles bunched and he lifted one lip to display a fang, warning her away from his master. She stiffened her forelegs, falling onto her rump in her haste to stop, and scooted backwards, her whole attitude changing as she pinned her ears back and tucked her tail. He graciously did not discipline her any further, but merely turned his back.

"Come on, let's go," Firetooth told her, catching up at last. She looked so crestfallen, though, that he relented and instead of dragging her away he tried to push her towards the foxhounds, who had already returned to their silliness. "Go on, go play with those guys. They seem nice."

She gave him a _look_, but eventually made her way over to the noisy group. At first she seemed content to run around with the pack, but then one of the little hounds invited her to chase him, and she did – chased him right into the dirt, rolled him on his back and pinned him until he squeaked. Then she released the hound and went after another, pleased with her new game.

"I doubt your bitch will integrate well into that pack," came a quiet voice from behind Firetooth, and he looked over his shoulder at a stocky man in hard-worn leathers with a mabari handler's badge. His hound stood at his hip, alert.

"I didn't even want to come over here, but she didn't listen to me," Firetooth admitted, feeling his face redden with embarrassment.

"How old is she?"

Firetooth shifted uncomfortably. "Six months," he hedged. It seemed about right. The handler's eyes flicked to him under his shaggy bangs, then back to the dogs. Firetooth squirmed, knowing he looked like an idiot, claiming this dog who didn't obey him and whose age he didn't even know.

A week ago, he would have said something harsh, collected his dog and stalked away, but he hadn't had a conversation with anyone except the dog (who was an excellent listener but had very little to say) since leaving Redcliffe and, frankly, he was getting lonely. So, when the handler spoke again, he actually listened, if for no other reason than to hear a voice.

"She's too clever for the foxhounds," the handler explained. "Too high drive. The warhounds wouldn't have her because she's being silly, but she'll outgrow that if you don't encourage it. Call her over, we'll see if I can get my hound to play a game of tug with her and give those foxhounds a break."

"Um..."

The handler glanced at him again. "She won't come, eh?"

"She'll come," Firetooth insisted, flushing, and took a breath in preparation to shout for the dog's attention. He jumped when he felt the handler tap his arm and scowled at him. "What?"

"Don't call her if you know she won't come." The handler grinned at him, the expression transforming his craggy features. "My mabari is Honey, by the way, and I'm Dane."

Firetooth had had about enough of being lectured by a stranger, though, so he ignored the offered hand and moved away, intending to try to catch his dog.

"Look, buddy, I know it's no fun taking advice on your dog, but if you can't control her, some pompous arse is gonna realize what she is and have her put down." Dane's voice was hard and sharp as flint. "Mabari are a national breed. The blood is kept pure by law. It doesn't take a trained eye to see she's a mix."

Firetooth stopped in his tracks and spun with a snarl. "I would like to see them try."

Dane's eyes warmed, the surface friendliness replaced by something more real. "That's the spirit. Too bad dog men don't make the laws."

Firetooth sighed, his shoulders drooping. As much as it galled him to admit it, he had no idea what to do with the dog. He'd expected her to just automatically obey him, to fall into the hierarchy of their little pack at once. He'd saved her life, nursed her and fed her, and thought that ought to be more than enough to earn her trust and respect. Instead, she had taken delight in running rings around him, fawning on him when she wanted something and ignoring him when she didn't. It was infuriating and baffling in equal measure.

The fact was, Firetooth wasn't really equipped to be an Alpha. He had natural dominance aplenty but _leadership_, well, that was something else, something more. Without the structure of a pack to support him, he couldn't hold onto his role. If he didn't figure it out soon, he was going to lose his new friend.

"What do I do?" he asked finally.

"Well..." Dane huffed out a breath and hooked his thumbs into his belt. His dog sniffed the closest hand briefly, checking for a treat, then went back to watching the foxhounds romp. "We're heading out in two hours. I can't tell you everything you should know, but... Well, the most important thing is, you can't lose your temper. You can't ever yell or hit her. She'll just think it's funny, and she wins because she made you lose control. I was watching, earlier," his gaze flicked to Firetooth's again in a habitual gesture that seemed to mean the man was trying to be tactful, "and I think that's your biggest problem."

Firetooth snorted wryly. "You might be right."

"It's even more important with bitches," Dane went on, stroking his Honey's ears fondly. Firetooth realized with a start that the hound was female. "A lot of handlers don't want bitches for active duty. They say the heat is too disruptive, and that bitches like to play games. They're right on both counts."

His mabari woofed and pulled her head out of his hand indignantly.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, Honey," Dane soothed her. "Though you have to admit, the heat is annoying."

She turned her ears sideways in distaste.

"Anyway, yeah, bitches play games. Not like the dogs, who'll butt heads with you, nice and straightforward, as long as you're hard-headed enough. Bitches are always testing, looking for lots of back-and-forth with you, making you work for it – but not too hard. They still really want to have a good time with you." Dane grinned and nudged Firetooth with his elbow. "Not so different from women, eh?"

"I... yeah," Firetooth said eventually, struggling to process that.

"And they don't have all of society telling them to be good little girls, either," Dane added. "They know who they are and what they're about. Some men are challenged by that. They're used to women doing whatever they say just because they're bigger and badder." He made a descriptive gesture to indicate what he thought of those men and the size of their genitals.

"I can handle her," Firetooth said instantly. Even if he was still waiting for the full import of Dane's words to sink in, he had heard the challenge clearly enough, and he never backed down from a challenge.

"I sure hope so," Dane said. "Hey, what's her name?"

Firetooth blinked, his mind momentarily blank. He had unconsciously assumed the dog would eventually learn to talk and pick her own name, like a werewolf, but of course that was absurd. He blurted out the first name that came to mind. "Twilight."

"Cute." Dane fished in his pocket for some jerky. Twilight was on her way over, evidently tired of tormenting the poor foxhounds, her eyes on Honey and alight with curiosity. "Here, call her now, when she's already coming. Guaranteed success."

Firetooth took the jerky and, ignoring his own sudden pang of hunger, offered it to his dog along with a loud, clear repetition of her new name, trying not to cringe in renewed embarrassment. _Twilight_. A time of transitions, half dark and half light, and then there was the proximity of twilight to _night_. Could he have thought of anything more stupidly symbolic?

Dane was watching him with that same sidelong, penetrating eye. "You want to grab some lunch? I have enough to share."

"Is the drooling that obvious?" Firetooth laughed nervously, mortified.

But he swallowed his pride and followed Dane and Honey, with Twilight wandering along behind with her nose to the ground. He ate the sandwich Dane offered and listened to more of his advice. Then he fed Twilight, one bite at a time as part of a game designed to teach her to come when called.

He would be damned if he would lose his pack again.

* * *

_Roosters are total bad-asses, I shit you not. I know one who beat up an eagle and sent him flying home to Mommy._

_Special thanks to mille libri for her help and support, and to everyone else for reading, favoriting, reviewing and for just generally being patient with my slow updates lately. I'm working on it, I promise!_


	29. The Gift of Speech

A horn sounded from the head of the caravan and Dane looked up from where he had been demonstrating to Firetooth how to trim Twilight's dewclaws. "Damn it, I have to go."

"Where are you going?" Firetooth asked. "Your pa – your caravan, I mean."

Dane explained, "Bann Entorell is gonna try to join up with the Gray Wardens. He met them, you know, during the summer. They killed some darkspawn for us."

"I know, I was there," Firetooth said, with a hint of pride even though he himself hadn't actually done any of the fighting.

"Really? Are you a Gray Warden, too?"

He shook his head. "No. We were just traveling with them for a while."

"Maybe you should follow the caravan," Dane suggested. "We're going to Redcliffe, since we heard that the Wardens cured Arl Eamon and there's some resistance gathering there."

Firetooth's spirits, which had leapt at the invitation, abruptly plummeted into his boots. "I can't," he muttered. "I can't go back to Redcliffe. I... made a mistake there. I'm going south and east, into the Brecilian Forest where we used to live."

Dane eyed him sidelong through his fringe of shaggy hair, playing with Twilight's soft, floppy ears while the puppy wagged her white tail. Honey nudged his hand jealously and he pointedly ignored the impolite demand. "That's darkspawn territory, they say."

Firetooth felt his lip curl in irritation. Dane could care less if he was eaten by the Horde, he just didn't want him bringing Twilight down with him. He reminded himself that Dane could hardly be expected to care; after all, he was a stranger. Firetooth had left behind everyone who cared whether he lived or died.

"I'll kill anything that tries to touch her," he heard himself say through the wash of pain, and was mildly surprised that his voice held its usual certainty.

"You know, I believe you," Dane said after a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt.

"What are-" Firetooth's eyes widened when Dane unceremoniously dropped the belt into his hands, its two sheathed daggers still attached. "You can't give me these, they're your weapons!"

Dane shrugged. "They're nothing special, I can get more from the quartermaster. I ain't giving you my bow, though. That's mine."

Around them, wagon wheels creaked into motion as the oxen churned up mud with hooves as big as lily pads. The caravan was on the move, and the mabari unit commander shouted a command for all the dog teams to take the vanguard. Dane gave him an ironic salute and turned to obey, but stopped a few steps away and fumbled in his bag for a moment. He pulled out a small earthenware bottle and tossed it at Firetooth, who caught it reflexively.

"For if she swallows any tainted blood," Dane shouted over the noise of the caravan by way of explanation. Then he turned and broke into a jog, Honey bounding along beside him, until he had joined his comrades in the vanguard.

Firetooth uncorked the bottle and smelled the sickly-sweet floral of the unguent inside. Twilight hopped up on her hing legs to sniff, too, and sneezed.

"Are you supposed to eat this or what?" he asked her.

She wagged her tail and tilted her ears forward, utterly clueless.

"How about you just don't drink any darkspawn blood, then," he told her. "Now let's get out of here."

Twilight trotted along behind him, making frequent detours to investigate interesting smells. Firetooth lengthened his stride, chasing his shadow; when the caravan went out of earshot and Orayan's Crossing became another abandoned husk, he wanted to be far enough away not to hear its silence.

* * *

When Nightsong awoke, sunlight was already streaming through the mullioned window and across her bedspread where it lay on the floor, thrown aside in her rush to get to bed and to sleep as quickly as possible. She squirmed and stretched, grumbling to herself, and struggled with the knotted ties of her bodice for a few seconds before she realized how late it was.

She hopped out of bed with a squeak of embarrassment and scurried around her room looking for her shoes, ran a brush through her tangled hair a few times, and trotted out the door, heading for Sundancer's room. She was supposed to be on duty for helping Sundancer with the triplets – really, she couldn't imagine why Sundancer hadn't called for her.

When she found her, though, it became obvious that Sundancer had other things on her mind. The alpha's mate wasn't in her room, but was instead sitting on a couch in the great hall with every other female in the pack; Will was holding court with the adolescents in the corner, organizing their next game. One of the decorative suits of armor lay scattered on the floor, an early casualty of their exuberance.

"I'm so sorry I slept in," Nightsong apologized when she had picked her way through the crowd to Sundancer's side.

Sundancer thrust a squalling baby boy at her and said, "Please, for the love of the Lady, make him stop crying. I've changed him and fed him and everything I can think of."

"Why are you all here?" Nightsong asked. She placed the infant against her shoulder and began patting his back.

"Swiftrunner asked Teagan to keep all the females and young in here, since he and the other males are away and can't watch over them." She reached into the basket at her feet and picked up the plump brunette to put him to breast.

Nightsong looked around her at the great hall, the handful of young ones and the ten other females. No, actually only nine. "Where's Blossom?"

"Throwing up," Sundancer replied laconically. "According to the other girls she does it almost every morning. I don't think the food here agrees with her. Too many vegetables and not enough entrails."

"Poor thing." Nightsong continued patting the whimpering little boy and began to pace a circle around the room, hoping the movement would comfort him. This gave her the opportunity to greet everyone else, too, something she hadn't done in quite a while.

As they had even before they'd left their old den, the females lolled around in little clusters, chatting or playing small games with pebbles and other found items, while the boys ran and chased each other around the perimeter of the room, knocking more things over and generally being loud.

Nightsong frowned as she found herself comparing her packmates to the women and children she had spent the previous day with. She felt a small surge of pride that the younger members of her pack seemed so happy and carefree, especially compared to the thin and exhausted refugees, but quite frankly, their females were an embarrassment. She tried to imagine Valena or Mother Hannah lying around playing Ratstones in the middle of the day, and couldn't.

Her indignation grew as she remembered facing the scorn of Rick's widow, being accused of lazing about and taking advantage of the townsfolk, and how she herself had worked so hard all day yesterday to prove her wrong. Evidently, these delicate flowers had spent _their_ day doing their hair and gossiping.

Her circuit of the room brought her back to Sundancer's side in time to witness a minor altercation over possession of an ottoman. Sundancer hadn't been using it, but apparently wanted to keep it around just in case she might want to use it in the future, and so bared her teeth and growled when Ambereyes tried to take it over to her side of the hall. Nightsong huffed in exasperation, sat down on the contested ottoman and began rocking from side to side with the still-unhappy baby boy cradled in her arms.

"We have to get everyone out of here," she said to Sundancer.

"Please," Sundancer said fervently. "They are driving me crazy. I can't stand all the mousy gossip. It's even worse now that they have dresses and shoes to talk nonsense about. But I can't – Swiftrunner was very stern about asking me to be sure to keep track of them all and keep them close. I think he's afraid the Redcliffe males will steal them."

"I don't mean just kick them out of the den," Nightsong explained. "I mean put them to work. Have you seen how hard the other women work? Valena and Mira, and not just them either. It seems like everyone else works and we just laze around."

"Except you." Sundancer smiled and leaned closer to pat her knee warmly. "I heard my Nightsong was setting an example yesterday. What do you think – should we take them all down to your house, then? It seems too small."

"It is." Nightsong frowned, absently rearranging a towel over her shoulder in case of spit-up. "I'm not sure what to do."

"We could send for Valena," Sundancer suggested.

Valena, as it turned out, had been in the laundry and came up with her arms full of clean bedding and a harassed expression. When asked whether there was any work they could do, Valena was clearly making a monumental effort not to roll her eyes when she answered, "I think we can find something."

"Something important," Nightsong urged, growing excited. "Something we can do ourselves. Sundancer, think how amazed Swiftrunner will be when he gets back to see what we've done!"

"Yes!" Sundancer's eyes were shining. "Valena, tell us what to do."

"Well," Valena said slowly, unaccustomed to being asked her opinion by anyone, much less the Bann's guests, "We have to talk to the chamberlain and the cook and Mother Hannah but I think I have an idea..."

* * *

The autumn breeze was blowing the scent of cider into Freida Farrier's kitchen, cooling the back of her neck and her bared forearms as she bent over her pot-bellied iron stove. Her back door was propped open with a barrel of apples to make absolutely sure it wouldn't bang in the wind; more bushel baskets and heavy jars of preserves were weighing down everything in the kitchen that might possibly rattle, flap, or fall down in the draft. Her grandmother's wind chimes had been bundled away, and she had switched from wood to charcoal in her stove. The pop and crackle of burning wood was too much for poor little Hope. Speaking of whom...

"How are you doing with that applesauce, honey? Do you want some more?"

Freida heard a soft scrape of a wooden bowl on the stone floor. "Good job," she said and picked up the empty bowl to wash later, after the turnovers were safely in the oven.

Andraste have mercy, she'd had no idea what she was getting into when she invited the new neighbor into her house and accepted the care of this little lost soul. Getting the sweet thing to move from the Gatekeeper's kitchen to her own had taken three doughnuts and all the coaxing she and Wilbur's spotted hound could manage – Hope had taken to the silly dog much more quickly than to any person. No wonder; some moments she seemed more like a lost pup than any human child.

But a child she was, and Freida had decided to treat her as one. She didn't know anything about taming a frightened animal, but she knew plenty about children. They like to be a part of things; they like to join in and be welcomed.

Freida finished the last turnover with a deft flicker of fingers, fluting the seam on the shortcrust with practiced ease. She took up a fork and poked a few holes in the top of it. Then she placed the fork on the full baking sheet and moved the entire baking sheet, turnovers and all, onto the floor. It was clean enough to eat off of, anyway.

"Mmm, these are almost done. They just need someone to poke them with that there fork." She demonstrated, pricking a second turnover. "Just like that. Then we can bake 'em, and then we can eat 'em all up."

Freida turned her back on the baking sheet and began rolling out more circles of shortcrust pasty, ready to be filled with apples and cinnamon and just a little drizzle of honey, pointedly keeping her back turned from the pastries on the floor. Her mouth turned up at the corners when she heard a clink of a fork being thrust a bit too firmly through the pastry and hitting the baking sheet underneath. She was folding the first of the new batch of turnovers when she heard a tiny voice, hoarse and squeaky from disuse.

"There."

"Thank you so much," Freida said, and quietly stashed away the desire to whoop and punch the air and possibly turn a few cartwheels if her body could remember how. That would scare the poor little dear to death.

Instead, she bent down _very_ slowly and picked up the baking sheet to put into the oven. Hope was already burrowing into her fort, shy again after her boldness. Bless her heart, the turnovers were holier than the Grand Cleric. The filling would leak out and scorch, but that was a very small price to pay for hearing Hope's voice.

* * *

_It has only just occurred to me that the characters' personal time lines are not matching up right now. Nightsong's story is lagging behind Firetooth's, Hope's, and the fighting men's. I'm going to catch her up in the next chapter to avoid confusion. Sorry about that :(_

_Thank you so much for reading, and special thanks to my eagle-eyed beta, mille libri, for never failing to correct my misspelling of Valena. (Velana? Vallena? Velena? I do it differently every darned time!)_


	30. Waxing Moon

_Back after a long break – blame my boss going on vacation and leaving me to run the warehouse! It sure felt good to sit down and write again. Thank you so much for sticking with me! Extra-special thanks for surgically precise beta-reading by mille libri :D_

* * *

Nightsong tied the last knot on Mother Hannah's bandage and sat back. "Like that?"

"Exactly," Mother Hannah approved, looking down at her freshly bandaged wrist. "Just the right amount of pressure."

"Thank you for letting me practice on you." Nightsong began untying the bandage.

Mother Hannah smiled at her. "Better to practice on a healthy person before someone' life might depend on your competence."

Nightsong swallowed. "Right."

"Show all the other girls. Everyone should know basic first aid. We may need every hand if the darkspawn horde comes to our gates," the Mother said grimly. She picked up her basket of sanctified charcoal. "Unfortunately, I have to return to the Chantry. I have to officiate the evening service."

Nightsong stood up and looked around for Sundancer, intending to ask her to gather everyone together, but her mistress and friend was already herding the rest of their pack into a neat circle. They caught each other's eye and shared a broad smile, then stepped into the center of their pack's attention.

"All right, ladies," Sundancer began the lesson. "Time to learn to tie a knot."

"Yet another thing thumbs are good for," Nightsong added, and a few of the women giggled and held up their hands.

"Everyone needs a partner, so you can practice on each other." Sundancer immediately started counting them off in twos before the bickering could begin.

It was working. They had forty beds and room for more in the empty storage barn, situated against the inner wall of the castle bailey. If the town of Redcliffe was forced to evacuate to its castle, they now had medical space available within its stout walls, and it was thanks to the hard work of their pack's women.

Normally the barn would be full of harvested produce donated to the Arl, but Teagan had waived a number of the landowners' taxes in light of the labor shortage. If they had a bad harvest next year, Teagan had explained, there could be famine and the Arling wouldn't have its usual backup storage; but if the individual homesteads weren't allowed to keep what harvest they could manage, then they wouldn't have to wait a year – there would be famine this winter.

Nightsong's heart flipped painfully, remembering that conversation. While Teagan had been just as perfectly friendly and polite as ever, Nightsong struggled not to blush and stammer and generally make a fool of herself. She hadn't forgotten his invitation, even if she still didn't understand it. Teagan's politeness extended to not commenting on her silliness.

She was very glad, therefore, that when he walked into the barn-turned-sickbay, the place was a-bustle with women practicing knotting bandages. Too often, it was full of women lying on the cots and complaining about being asked to work even when their inclinations lay elsewhere. None of them had ever had anything remotely close to a "job" before; it was shockingly difficult to learn how to discipline themselves to _keep _doing something even after they were bored with it.

Her pleasure at being seen successful was cut with a broad ribbon of anxiety, however, as Teagan stopped and looked around, taking in the whole enterprise. This was _her_ project. She and Sundancer and their girl pack had done all the work, by the Lady, and she did not want an Alpha male swooping in and taking over.

"Well now, this looks grand. Look at all these clean beds and bandages," Teagan said expansively. He stood in the doorway wearing his hunting clothing and – Nightsong's eyes widened – carrying a dead boar across his shoulders. "I'd come in and admire it in greater detail, but I'm afraid I'm a bit of a mess at the moment.

"There's not much to see," Nightsong said carefully. "We just cleaned out the barn and set everything up like Mother Hannah told us to. Valena has been here the whole time, helping a lot. We didn't know where anything was."

"You've all done a fine job," he said, raising his voice a little so everyone could hear. Faces looked up all around the room and broke into pleased smiles and not a few coyly cocked heads and batted eyelashes. Teagan beamed at everyone in turn, then turned slightly away and dropped his voice, speaking directly to Nightsong again. "Though I understand we have your own initiative to thank. You are a remarkable, resourceful lady."

"Oh, well, I just..." She tried frantically to think of something intelligent to say, and realized with horror that she was blushing.

Again.

"You caught a boar," she blurted out, desperate to change the topic. Then her heart fluttered with a sudden thought. Could the boar be... for her? It would be a very Alpha thing to do, to catch such a dangerous prey and present it to her right in front of everyone. What should she do? If she refused, would he be angry that she embarrassed him in public? If she accepted it, would that be seen as tacit acceptance of him as mate?

Teagan cut through her panicked thoughts with words, pleasantly delivered, that nonetheless had the effect of a bucket of cold water. "Yes, I thought a roast boar would be a fine way for the castle to celebrate its new first aid facility." He grinned. "By now, I'm sure you know I need only the slimmest excuse for a celebration."

"Oh," Nightsong said faintly. "Yes. That sounds wonderful. Sharing the boar with everyone."

Teagan's eyes crinkled warmly at her and he gave her a short bow, shallow by necessity of the burden on his shoulders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must deliver this brute to the kitchen before the blood soaks through the wrapping and starts dripping. Chef Pam will serve _me_ for dinner if I drip blood all over her nice clean floors."

With that, he left, striding off down the alley towards the kitchen's service entrance. Valena came up behind her and made a low, appreciative sound in her throat. "He fills out those leather leggings nicely, don't he?"

Nightsong burst out in startled giggles, her cheeks burning. "Yes, I – I suppose he does."

Valena gave her a disgusted look. "You _suppose_?" She nudged Nightsong with her elbow, triggering another round of annoyingly girly giggles. "Oh, stop it. Look at your face. You _like_ him."

Nightsong's smile faded. "It's more complicated than that. I'm not – I never thought I would be with any other man than Firetooth. Even if I had wanted to be with another, it was never my choice. Not that I wanted to," she added fiercely.

"...Right," Valena said.

Nightsong knew the girl hated Firetooth and wished Nightsong would get over him already. She was glad Valena was nice enough not to say so out loud. She gave her a tight smile and then looked away.

"Doesn't stop you from _looking_, though," Valena added. "No harm in that. It ain't like he's available to girls like us, anyway." She paused in thought and the wicked grin returned. "At least, not for more than a night."

"What do you mean? Does he... invite women often?" Nightsong frowned as she tried to imagine the logistical nightmare of having his temporary women scattered throughout Ferelden.

"You hear rumors when you work in the castle," Valena replied lightly. "He's no Antivan man-whore, but, well, he ain't married and never has been, if you know what I mean."

"He said he had to get married now, though." Nightsong went back to her table to begin grinding willow bark in a mortar.

Valena followed her, suddenly alight with curiosity for new gossip. "He did? Why? When did you find out? Does he have anyone in mind?"

"He needs a son, apparently. And I don't know if he has anyone in mind. He said that in the context of telling me I wasn't in the running." Nightsong huffed out a breath, dusting a few particles of dry bark into the air. Even though she had turned him down first, the statement felt like rejection. It was stupid, but still.

Valena agreed, evidently. She put her fists on her hips and said indignantly, "The cad! What, did he up and tell you to bugger off?"

"Nnno..." Nightsong felt another blush starting somewhere in her belly. "He invited me to his bed. I said I wasn't ready for a new mate, and he said he didn't want me for a mate, he just wanted us to have a good time."

There was a long pause, during which Valena's mouth hung open, righteous indignation utterly abandoned. "And you said _no_?" she demanded incredulously.

* * *

Nightsong sat cross-legged on her bed, the wind from her open window blowing gently through the raven silk of her hair as she brushed it. The moon shone brightly enough to bathe her bare body in silver light and she felt no need for candles. A stronger gust of cool air made her shiver, though; she pulled a short robe around her shoulders, missing her warm fur, before picking up her brush again and returning to her thoughts.

Teagan hadn't even tried to take away her new territory.

He liked the idea and admired the execution. Nightsong would have expected him to immediately decide he wanted such a valuable thing, even though it was hard work.

Maybe he didn't really think it was all that great.

But he had given them a boar as a reward.

He might have just felt like going boar hunting. That was possible, even likely.

Or... maybe he was telling the truth, had been the whole time, and thought her worthy enough to keep her territory.

Another shiver ran through her, not from the cold, as she thought about the other people in Redcliffe who had been allowed their own mini-territories. Ser Perth. Mayor Murdock. The stablemaster, the kennel master, the truly formidable Chef Pam. Did he afford her the same respect?

Of course, Sundancer was really the one in charge, so maybe he was just respecting _her_ as Swiftrunner's mate, and Nightsong was just a rider on that respect. That thought was surprisingly deflating.

Except that, as much as Nightsong loved her friend, she had to admit that Sundancer had never been interested enough in the outside world to embark on any project worth doing. She was intensely loyal to her mate and immediate pack, and everyone else could go hang. Even before they had left the old den, she had mostly been humoring Nightsong as they tried to figure out the meanings behind the ancient Tevinter frescoes.

Teagan knew them both, and he had chosen to give special praise to _Nightsong_.

She dropped her brush carelessly on the floor and stood up to close the window. She paused before it, watching the moon and remembering a time when her Lady's face had gazed back from it. Now it was colder and harder, but brighter, too, and she could see it clearly with her new human eyes. She could see the stars now, full of promise. She knew there were constellations, too, invented long ago by lost sailors. She knew that elves and humans had different constellations to reflect their different lore.

Why shouldn't werewolves have their own stories in the stars?

_That right there_, she thought, _the two big stars right next to each other. That's the Lady. Those are her eyes._

Nightsong made a decision.

She closed and latched the windows, then crossed to her bedroom door. She flung it open and padded barefoot out through the dark, empty halls of Redcliffe Castle until she came to Teagan's room.

He was sitting at his desk, its green felt top scattered with reports, but he wasn't working. His elbows were on the table beside an empty wine goblet, his face buried in his hands, quill lying abandoned on a half-written letter.

"Teagan?" Nightsong ventured, half-wondering if she should leave. "Are you okay?"

"The archdemon's army is moving. It's coming. I've been reading battle reports all evening and the death tolls are staggering." He sighed and sat up, rubbing his tired eyes. "And many of the nobles in the Bannorn are giving us grief about coming to the Landsmeet. Eamon's got me writing letters to try to convince the stubborn bastards it's necessary-" He cut himself off abruptly and looked up at her apologetically. "I'm so sorry, please pardon my... language... Well, hello there."

Nightsong smiled and shook her hair back from her face, unable to stop the preening gesture in the face of his obvious admiration as his eyes raked over her long, nude legs. "Hello."

He blinked and shook himself. "Forgive me, I – it's taking me a moment to change tacks." He stood slowly and took a few steps towards her, but stopped at arm's reach. "My lady, I thought you weren't interested in what I could offer. I understand many points of etiquette are new to you, and you might not be... aware of the implications of your attire, I would hate to, er, presume."

"If the offer still stands," Nightsong said, moving closer until she could feel the warmth of his body, "then I'm interested."

Teagan's face transformed with relief and pleasure, and then he had closed the distance between them, his mouth on hers. She gasped, then melted against his broad chest as one strong arm slid around her waist, the other hand burying itself in the softness of her hair. For a moment she floundered, unsure what to do, and Teagan gently guided her deeper into the kiss. She bit at his lower lip and he growled in appreciation.

"Just so we're clear," she told him, breaking away slightly to look up at him, "I still don't want a new mate. This is-"

"Just tonight, I know." He smiled at her, trailing a fingertip over the graceful line of her neck and down between the curves of her chest. His smile broadened at her sharp intake of breath, the tips of her breasts hardening against the soft fabric of her robe. "I relish the opportunity to demonstrate how a woman as stunningly lovely as you deserves to be treated."

"That... sounds good," she managed, and let Teagan close the door behind her.


	31. Rising Tide

_So, so sorry for the long delay! I was sick all summer with "probably some sort of mono" according to my doctor. Writing just did not happen no matter how much I wanted it to – and believe me, I did want to – but the words have started coming again and I'm excited to be back! Thank you so much for coming back even after the long hiatus, and thanks also to mille libri for her support and help in getting back on my virtual feet. Now, back to the wolf pack:_

* * *

Will draped the finished panel of chainmail over his work bench and flexed his hands with a grimace. Making chainmail was the most boring, repetitive, and above all painful task that his new master had given him. Wrap the heavy steel wire around a rod. Cut the wire along the rod to form rings. Stamp each ring with a special punch to flatten the ends. Lace them together and rivet _every single stupid ring_ until his fingers were cramping into claws around his pliers and he was seriously considering running to the nearest forest and eating bugs for the rest of his life rather than rivet anything ever again.

"Boy, before you let out another sigh, you ought to consider which of us is sittin' comfy on a bench and which of us is standin' over hot coals and swingin' an eight-pound hammer," Owen said. He gave the coals a vicious stab with a poker and rearranged the steel sword blanks lying around the forge before returning one of the blanks to the anvil and taking up his hammer again.

"Sorry, sir." Will massaged his hands in silence until he couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "Sir, I'd be happy to help you-"

"Swords are not for raw apprentices," Owen said shortly.

Will started to sigh, then stopped himself just in time and began wrapping a fresh piece of wire around the ring-sizing rod. He tried to feel resigned to his fate and not to torment himself thinking about how much more interesting it would be to be learning how to actually forge things.

"Finish two more mail shirts, and I'll help you to make your own little knife," Owen said after several more minutes of work.

Will brightened at once. "Yes, sir! Thank you!"

Owen looked up long enough to give him a surprisingly gentle smile that faded back into his usual focused frown almost before it had begun.

For about one candlemark, Will worked with redoubled speed, excited at the prospect of not only learning something new but of actually _making_ something for _himself_ and maybe even a _useful_ thing and that would _so _impress the other boys in his pack... but working faster just made his hands tire even more quickly and he had to get up and swish them in the waterwheel's trough to cool the burning muscles.

This was going to take forever if he didn't think of some better way to do it.

"Owen, sir," he said tentatively, "would if be okay if I took the wire and the pliers and stuff up to the castle so I can work on it at home tonight?"

Owen paused in his forging and squinted at him. "I don't like my tools to leave my shop."

"I'll bring them back," Will said, feeling his ears try to flatten submissively, which was always an uncomfortable sensation. "I promise not to lose anything."

"Fine." Owen heaved a tired breath and hefted his hammer yet again. "Whatever gets the work done. Remember, kid, every mail shirt we _don't_ make before the darkspawn get here is one more man who has to fight in his shirtsleeves."

Will nodded enthusiastically. He gathered up a thick bundle of wire, the sizing rod, cutters, rivets, and pliers into an incredibly heavy armload of stuff that he carried up the hill to the castle, panting and sweating despite the cool wind. He struggled through the doors and along the halls to the barracks his pack used before dropping everything in a heap on one of the bunks. He was sorting the items into neat piles when the first of his packmates wandered in, a small black-haired boy about half his age.

"Whatcha doing?" the boy asked.

"It's very important work," Will said loftily. "For smith apprentices only. You're too young even to understand how it's done."

"Bollocks," said the boy, using the new, human swear word with evident relish. "I bet it's something stupid. The Redcliffe pack only ever lets us do stupid, boring things."

Will picked up the sizing rod and continued wrapping the heavy wire around it. "Maybe if you were old enough to have a name, they would let you do something that actually mattered. _I'm_ saving _lives_."

"I do have a name. It's Hafter. So there."

Will looked up, startled. "Really? Isn't that the name of the old warrior Mistress Leliana told us about?"

"Yeah, but humans re-use names a lot," Hafter explained. "It's okay to use a human name that another human is also using. I asked Master Perth before he left."

"Well, then why didn't you name yourself Perth?" Will frowned. "Or why didn't you just pick a normal name?"

"Human names are the new thing," Hafter said. "Obviously. And Hafter sounds better than Perth. Since I have a name, then, how about you tell me what you're doing?"

Will realized he was losing his aura of mystery and resumed his work with great seriousness. "I'm making armor with Master Owen the smith. If I mess up, the warrior who wears it could _die_."

"I'd rather be the warrior than the smith," Hafter sniffed.

"You wouldn't be much of one without armor," Will said. "Master Owen makes almost all the armor for the whole Redcliffe pack, and all their swords, too. Who's more important, one unarmed, naked man, or the smith who turns him and everyone else in the army into a mighty warrior with his well-forged steel?"

It was a speech Owen had made several times while trying to impress upon Will that his work was important, no matter how bored or tired he got. There was more to it, but Will pared it down to its essentials for dramatic purposes. He could see Hafter was intrigued. The younger boy sidled closer and looked at the wire being wrapped around the sizing rod. "It doesn't _look_ too complicated. I could do that."

Will pursed his lips, pretending to think it over. "I don't know. Your hands need to be strong and you're still pretty little. I don't think you can manage it."

"I can so!" Hafter was outraged.

"Can't."

"Can!" Hafter made a grab for the wire. Will hunched over the tools and growled, baring his teeth, and the younger boy jerked his hand away and whined, "I _can_ do it. Please? Can't I just try?"

"Well..."

"Please? I promise I'll do a good job!"

"I guess, if you're really careful, you can have a turn, but-"

"Yes! Gimme!"

"-But you have to promise to tell me if it's too hard for you and you get tired," Will concluded, trying to suppress the gleam in his eyes. Hafter sat down next to him and Will gave him the wire and the rod and showed him how to wind it into a tight, even spiral.

"This is easy," Hafter said. "I can do this all night, no problem."

"Great!" Will rubbed the younger boy's shoulder affectionately. "Then, when you're done, you can snip it into rings, too. That means I can work on one of the other steps, and together we'll get it done faster."

"So all the warriors will have armor before the darkspawn come," Hafter sang to himself while he worked with tremendous energy.

Will was guiding Hafter's small hands as he cut the wire loops into rings when a third boy entered the room, a blond nearly Will's height. "Hey Will. Haven't seen you in a while – what're you up to?"

"Important work," Hafter said. "You wouldn't understand."

"Easy, Hafter," Will reproved. "This isn't about you and me – this is about the whole territory staying safe."

"It is?" The newcomer's eyes lit with interest.

"We're making armor," Hafter said proudly. "_We're_ saving _lives_. What've _you_ been doing, huh?"

"Nothing." The blond's forehead wrinkled. "How are you saving lives? You're just fiddling with wire."

"It's very complicated," Hafter said in a passable imitation of Will's previous words. "Besides, I'm helping Will, he doesn't need you."

"Actually," Will put in, "there's a lot of steps involved, Hafter. I could teach him one of the other ones, and then we'd all three be working, and it'd get done three times as fast." He raised an eyebrow at the blond boy. "Though the other steps are a lot harder."

"Prob'ly too hard for him," Hafter agreed.

"Hey!" the blond objected. "If Hafter can do it, so can I. I want to do something important, too. Did you know the females have their own territory now? They set up a place to take care of sick people. Alpha Teagan gave them a boar."

The boys shared a brief, silent moment in which they pondered how embarrassing it was that the females were doing important things worthy of an Alpha's notice, while they had mostly been playing ball and chasing each other. _Except for me, of course_, Will thought proudly.

"We better get busy," Will said, and taught the blond how to use the hammer and punch to close the little rings as Hafter made them.

Some time later, Sundancer came down to the barracks to gather everyone together for dinner, and found all the boys in the entire pack clustered around Will's bunk, anxiously awaiting their turn to use one of the tools, each trying to outdo the other for the quantity and quality of his work.

"What in the Forest are you doing?" she asked, surprised.

"Important work," the boys said in unison.

"Oh," she said. She looked worried, maybe for her mate – Swiftrunner had been gone a long time and they all missed him. Even so, she was clearly glad to see the boys doing something other than breaking furniture. "That's great. Do you want to eat your dinner in here, then?"

"Yes, please," Will said.

"Okay," she said. "Fine. That's fine. The castle is busy, anyway – more refugees."

"Again?" Will frowned down at the chainmail in his lap, feeling a stab of guilt at having made a game of their dire situation. But it was a good game, he told himself, since it was getting the armor made faster.

"Yes. Again." She turned to go. "Keep the other boys with you, all right, Will? It's better if they don't run around getting in the way while we're still trying to get the new people settled."

After the door closed behind her, Hafter asked quietly, "Does that mean the darkspawn are coming closer?"

"I think so," said Will.

"We better work faster."

"Yes."

* * *

Gatekeeper stood with his arms folded behind Ser Perth, backing him up with his silent presence while the knight argued with Matteus Cory of Cory's Creamery. The dairy farm's long barns were filled to the rafters with refugees, the cows standing around outside and lowing occasionally in distress at the change to their routine.

"I can't lose my farm," Cory insisted. "You don't understand. This is my family legacy! How can you ask me to just leave?"

"The farm is already lost," Perth said. The calm finality in his voice finally shut the poor farmer up. "We cannot defend it. To stay and attempt such a suicidal mission would be to lose not only your farm, but your family and your animals as well. As for my own men, I shall not waste them in such a manner."

"We're leaving for Redcliffe as soon as the refugees are mobile," Gatekeeper rumbled. Perth glanced at him, showing a slight irritation; the knight would have preferred to stay until the following morning in order to wait for any stragglers, but Gatekeeper would not allow his pack to be risked any longer. Swiftrunner himself would be here making this decision, but their Alpha had taken a blow to the back of the head and was lying down, waiting for an elfroot poultice to work.

Perth sighed and turned back to the distraught farmer. "You heard the man. We leave within the hour. I do not wish any more people to be lost to the blight, and you have done a great service to Ferelden by sheltering so many of her citizens in your home. You, your family and what of your herds you can salvage are more than welcome to travel with us."

"I strongly urge you to come," Gatekeeper added. "Your herds will make a tempting target not only to darkspawn raiders, but to bandits and other vultures."

"I..." Cory took one more look around at the neat farmhouse with its wide porch, the long barns, and the glossy brown cattle, his gaze finally settling on an elderly woman cradling an infant, a young lady standing beside her holding the hand of a toddler. "Yes. You're right. I have to get my family to safety."

"You might be able to come back after the blight is vanquished," Perth said.

Cory gave him a disgusted look. "Don't lie to me. The darkspawn ruin everything. There won't be anything to come back to."

The three men turned as one to watch the smoke to the south, looming like a greasy thundercloud along the horizon.

"It's getting closer," Gatekeeper said.

Perth nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Firetooth and Twilight wended their way through the primeval forest, following the traces left by their pack's earlier passage. Squads of genlock scouts tromped through the forest, too, forcing them to skirt their path, to hide under logs or even to climb trees, Twilight wrapped in his blanket like a sling and hung on his back.

She had taken that rather well, looking around at the view, black nose wriggling as she took in the different scents in the forest canopy and as relaxed as though Firetooth were her personal carriage driver. He found her enjoyment surprisingly satisfying; it felt good to labor for their safety and see her appreciation, even if for a completely different reason.

The dog wasn't just a burden, though: some odd combination of dog genes had given her an instinct to "point" at interesting animals, and it had taken him only one or two repetitions to impress upon her the importance of pointing at darkspawn the moment she sensed them with her superior nose and ears.

She was pointing now.

They had just crested a ridge and the wind must have brought some new scent from the valley before them. Firetooth froze in place and watched his packmate for clues to what she was sensing, wishing again that she could speak, but Twilight's short tail quivered low between her thighs in an uncertain way instead of standing straight out like it usually did, and her muzzle drifted this way and that as though she could not determine exactly which direction to point. One paw hung in the air and her whole body vibrated with tension.

He decided not to take any chances. She might be sensing more than one group and not know which one to point at; they might be surrounded before they could escape. He pulled the rolled-up blanket out from under his pack and opened it with a flick. "Come here," he whispered. "I'll carry you."

She whined and paced instead of jumping happily onto the blanket, and he felt his mouth start to turn into an angry snarl and bit back on the emotion, remembering the Mabari handler's advice that he never lose his temper. "Come here," he repeated, firm but not angry. "Now."

Twilight was not happy at all and in the end he had to hold her by the scruff to get the blanket wrapped around her. She didn't struggle once she was in, thank the Lady, but pressed her cold nose against his neck and trembled. He reached the nearest vine-covered tree, the vine's encircling roots and tendrils as thick as his leg, and heaved them up the mighty tree as quickly and silently as he could.

Instead of stopping once they reached a branch wide enough to hide on, though, he kept going on into the canopy, higher and higher until he could see blue sky between the leaves. Carefully, he inched out on a sturdy-looking limb until he was close enough to one of those open places to see out, hoping to see some sign of what had Twilight all worked up.

The valley before them was shallow but very wide, and he could see perhaps two miles before another ridge's bare stones rose up to obscure his view. He could see the ridge's stones because the forest was literally gone, starting about halfway down the valley. In place of the forest stretched a sea of bonfires, and now that he was up here in the wind he could smell the smoke. He could smell the darkspawn, too.

Desperately he scanned the horizon, looking for the edge of the horde, some way he could get around them or past them. The northeastern edge of the encampment was a wall of flames, the cracking of timber audible as faint _pop-pop_ sounds even at this distance as ogres tore down the ancient trees to make way for the main body of the horde. He presumed that must be the direction they were going, and squirmed on the branch to look the other direction in the hopes of seeing the rear edge, raising a small whimper of protest from Twilight.

Maybe, if he could see the rear edge, he could sneak around past the direction they had come. There would be far fewer scouts at their rear edge, for there would be no prey to be had in that blasted wasteland. But he couldn't see that far; his view was blocked by some sort of ugly hill right in the middle of the encampment-

The "hill" reared up on its hind legs and unfurled its wings. Purplish scales shone in the light of hundreds of fires as the Archdemon stretched its neck up and up into the sky and belched out a geyser of corrupted flame. It gathered itself, its massive chest belling out with a deep breath, and then it leapt into the air, extinguishing an acre of bonfires with its first wingbeat. It wheeled through the clouded sky and let out a shrieking bellow, and Firetooth clung to the branch for his life when the terrible sound reached his ears. Twilight screamed.

The dragon's shriek went on and on until he thought his ears would bleed, and then it stopped, the great lungs heaving as it flew. Then it beat its sail-like wings and spiraled up into the sky until it disappeared in the clouds.

* * *

_A/N: Hafter, the original one from the legends, is Dane's fostor son, rumored to be the son of a werewolf, and responsible for uniting the Alimarri to combat the Blight. It seemed to me like the sort of story Leliana would tell to the werewolf boys._


	32. Pyre

_Many thanks to my incredibly helpful and supportive and generally awesome beta, mille libri, and to everyone who reads and especially reveiws – you make my whole week! This story is most definitely not dead. It's just moving slowly right now because it needs to reach a certain point at the same time as my other story (The Great Escape) does so that their timelines will match. Thanks again! You rock!_

* * *

Urthemiel did not sleep. What need had a god for rest? But his worshipers did sleep, and they were sleeping now, restless and fitful. He could hear their tormented dreams like a vast chorus of screams in the night.

Darkness was a relief. In darkness, he could not see the way his iridescent hide had turned mottled and dark, how his sleek body had deformed, how his shining scales had grown into bristling spikes. He, who had been the envy of all dragonkind, who had inspired artists and poets to great feats of creation with just a glimpse of his beautiful visage, was now so hideous that men screamed in horror and fled from his ugliness.

His imprisonment had been so very long. How he had looked for the day when he would stretch his splendid wings and launch himself joyously into the sky! When his worshipers would offer music and dancing and artistry of all kinds for his pleasure! How could he have known that his summoning song would be heard by creatures so vile? With a single touch, their taint had corrupted him forever.

His new worshipers followed him fervently; their devotion was charming, in a pathetic sort of way. But they created nothing. They gave him no glory in song or any other beautiful thing. They could not even dance, but merely lurched about and made him sick at the sight of their twisted bodies.

At first he had hated them for what their disease had done to him. The bitterness of his disappointment had driven him into a rage, and he had lashed out and destroyed them when they came within reach. In agony he had shouldered his way through the narrow passages and struggled out into the light, and there he found a small village of goatherds. It had been foolish of him to hope that he was not so dreadful as he feared, that he might yet win some followers to love him in the way he craved.

They fled from him. He opened his mouth to call them back, and all that came out was a rusty screech. It was then that he knew all hope was lost.

They had rejected him! Spurned him, Urthemiel, a _god_ of the Old Empire, as though he were an unwanted suitor! He laid waste to the village with fire and claws, and when it was nothing but a smoldering heap, he returned in despair to the only beings that still found him beautiful. Pity filled him when they flocked to him, for they alone could understand him. It was not their fault that they were infected, after all, and to them his awful voice was the most lovely song.

_Destroy them, _he commanded his faithful. _Let us go forth and ruin this world that has rejected us._

In the months since, he learned to take joy in other things. His new body was still strong, his fiery breath still magnificent, and his claws stretched out like sabers. Urthemiel abandoned his old ways of beauty and song, and sank deep into the bestial nature of a dragon instead. He soared on mighty wings, giving vent to the jealousy that fueled him, and took pleasure in destroying the creatures of this world that took their own beauty for granted and did not deserve it.

Where there had once been music and poetry, now there was only the thrill of the chase, the joy of using his power to crush and destroy, and the satisfaction of catching his prey, whether that prey was a single deer or an entire army. Urthemiel the god of beauty was all but gone, overwhelmed by Urthemiel the dragon, the predator of predators. The dragon did not mind its ugliness.

The pains of his twisted body, an ache that never ceased brought, his mind back to the present; he shifted on the dirt where he lay amidst his sleeping throng, stretching out his forelimbs to relieve their cramping. The light from the bonfires shone on his gnarled paws and he turned his head away, his muzzle wrinkling in revulsion at the sight of his own body. Restlessly he came to his feet and paced a few steps this way and that, but it was no use. There was so little hunting to be had here in the Brecilian forest. All the trees got in the way. But there was that lovely wide stretch of wasted earth behind them...

The dragon drew in a breath and let out a great gust of flame, then leaped into the air. The heat of his fire billowed under his wings and bore him upward into the black sky, and for a moment, just a moment, the sheer joy of flying made him forget the pain.

If he could only find some small animal foolish enough to venture out into the charcoal wastelands his horde had left behind, he could chase it and flame it from the air until it ceased to amuse him. He had no interest in devouring it, of course – what use had a god for food? - but merely enjoyed the hunt. He had tried hunting his own darkspawn once, but the silly things did not understand that they were supposed to run, and died confused. That was no fun at all. Besides, they were his.

No, he had to find some other victim to entertain him... Perhaps if he sent out some scouts to flush out the prey for him, he might have a more enjoyable hunt. Yes, that was the thing to do. The dragon called out with his mind and summoned his fastest worshipers to scour this wasteland for him while he wheeled and soared on the soft night wind.

* * *

The new moon sidled above the treetops just as Firetooth reached the edge of the burned-out wasteland the darkspawn horde had left in its wake. All that remained of what had been a mighty primeval forest – and the upper edge of his pack's territory – was a black, pitted expanse of earth, dotted with holes and hummocks where ogres had torn up the trees, burned the wood, and left the knotted root masses behind. Firetooth's plan was to creep past the darkspawn's rear in the hope that they would have fewer patrols back here. There would certainly not be as many hunting parties; all the prey was long gone.

Twilight sniffed at the ground and sneezed in disapproval. Her white paws were already stained gray with ash, darkening to black as soon as she followed Firetooth out onto the charcoal waste. The two of them moved in quick darts from hummock to hummock, and they paused after each stealthy move to listen for the sound of an approaching darkspawn patrol. There were no trees to climb here, no forest canopy to hide beneath, and he couldn't stop thinking about the archdemon. He kept glancing up at the sky and half-expecting to see the dragon silhouette circling overhead like a vulture.

Twilight didn't share his trepidation and found this new game to be enormously enjoyable; she jumped up to lick his face ecstatically each time they finished dashing to a new hiding spot. He would have scolded her for not taking the danger seriously enough, but she wasn't whining or barking, and it was easier and quieter to just let her deliver her kisses and then move on. Besides, as long as she was having fun, she wouldn't wander around getting distracted by smells... and she _was_ still a puppy, after all.

By the time they were about two thirds of the way across, though, she had tired of the game and was plodding along behind him. As they paused in a deep hollow under the arching canopy of an oak tree's roots, she flopped onto her side and began to pant, turning her ears sideways to let him know she wasn't happy anymore. Firetooth was getting tired, too, to be honest.

The constant vigilance in which they lived was exhausting; proper, deep sleep was a longed-for extravagance that he could not afford, not without a full pack to watch his back. He had no backup. If he were attacked, there would be no Gatekeeper to protect his vulnerable packmate while he fought. In the past he had been merely useful; his death would have been an inconvenience to his pack, but little more. Now, he was indispensable to someone who depended upon him and only him for survival. It was a terrifying, humbling experience.

Firetooth strained his ears, but he heard nothing, not even the chirp of nighttime insects or the rustle of mice in this dead land. So he sat down beside his filthy little packmate, brushed some of the charcoal dust from his own hands, and pulled out the last of the rabbit he had snared the previous day. He fed most of the skin and meat to Twilight, who was still growing, and restricted himself to cracking the bones to suck out the oily marrow. She curled up against his thigh and rested her chin on his knee with a sigh.

Maybe the cracking sounds and the delicious smell of the rabbit distracted the tired dog and the hungry man, or maybe they were just that clever at hiding their approach; regardless of the reason, the first shriek that bounded up and over the oak tree's roots caught Firetooth completely by surprise.

He felt the ripple in the air as a clawed hand with a serrated blade firmly affixed to its forearms swept towards his face, and he flinched just enough that their sharp edge missed his head. Instead, the shriek's hand struck a glancing blow across his shoulder, just hard enough to piss him off.

His first instinct, of course, was to whirl and snap at the clawed hand with his teeth, but Ser Perth's painstaking training reminded him in time that his teeth weren't his first resort anymore. So instead he used the motion that he had already begun, twisting at the hip and catching the creature across the back of the neck with his extended arm. It stumbled forward and he shoved it face-first into the dirt and stomped down hard onto its neck. There was a crunch and the struggling creature collapsed.

It was a new kind of darkspawn, one he'd been told about but never seen, its mottled body covered in dark, chitinous scales and its arms tipped in spidery hands with awkwardly long claws. That must be why they attached their weapons directly to their arms – their hands must not be very strong, he thought. The whole effect was like a man-sized preying mantis. He didn't have time to examine it, though, because a second shriek followed the first over the top of the root and leaped down at him with its blades extended before it like spears.

Firetooth dealt with that by taking a quick, crouching step forward into the root mass. The shriek sailed over his head and landed just past where he had been standing. When it regained its feet and spun to face him again, his dagger was ready. The arm-blades were really rather ungainly, he thought, too long and heavy and only sharp on one side, just like a mantis. If he didn't get caught in their grasp or skewered, he'd be fine. To that end, he flung out his left arm in a wide sweep to knock the arm-blades aside, confident that the outer edge of the blades wouldn't do any damage, before lunging forward to stab sideways into the creature's ribs.

It squealed and staggered back; then, to his surprise, it turned and loped away, emitting a scream like a hawk made of rusted steel. He took two steps after it before he got control of the desire to chase fleeing prey and started using his brain again.

"Come on," he said tersely to Twilight, who had flattened herself to the ground the moment the first shriek had arrived. She rose with an anxious whine and together they bolted for the relative safety of the forest.

The treacherous ground caught at his ankles and fell out from under him without warning as he ran, and he was going to have a really impressive selection of bruises on his knees and shins tomorrow, but he had recognized that scream for what it was: a howl, calling for its packmates. There were more of these stealthy creatures out here, stalking the black lands in perfect camouflage, and while he seemed to be more than a match for one of them at a time, he didn't care to think about what might happen if he were surrounded. His legs shivered involuntarily at the thought of one of those serrated blade biting into his calves and hamstringing him.

That was when he heard the snapping of the sail-like wings overhead, and purple fire blasted down from the sky. A cluster of roots and stumps just in front of them exploded into flame, bits of shrapnel pattering against his leather vest and stinging his cheeks while the archdemon let out a keening cry full of the pleasure of the hunt. Twilight yelped and dug her claws into the earth to flee back the way they had come, away from the bonfire. She ran headfirst into Firetooth's legs and the two of them rolled over in a tangle of limbs.

He came to his feet, his free hand gripping Twilight's scruff to stop her from panicking, and searched the sky frantically. The dragon tucked its wings and the sound of its flight disappeared, but a dark shadow in front of the stars belied its location and he shoved the dog to the right with a shout of "Go! Run!" He followed his own advice just before the concussion of the dragon's second fireball slapped him in the back and threw him forward.

The dragon screamed its frustration and flapped its wings to regain altitude. The wind of its flight slammed the fires into the ground but they were burning too hot to go out entirely; Firetooth picked himself up off the ground and started to follow Twilight around the first bonfire to head for the forest again. He looked back over his shoulder to check for pursuit, and the firelight glinted off the insectile heads of a pack of shrieks running on all fours to head them off. He counted five – six – too many.

"This way," Firetooth barked to Twilight and turned so they were running the same direction as the shrieks. He and Twilight had a head start and, conceivably, they could reach the woods before the shrieks.

But he found out after a few yards that shrieks run faster than humans. The creatures bounded effortlessly over the uneven ground while he floundered along on two legs. He spat out an oath at the unfairness of life – if he still had his wolf, they would all be eating his dust! - and Twilight, already well ahead of him, cast an anxious look over her shoulder at him and realized he wasn't with her. She slowed and half-turned towards him to wait for him to catch up.

At that moment, Firetooth heard a strange fluttering sound. It came from directly behind him and he glanced back and saw the archdemon had just dived out of the sky, spreading its wings at the last instant to level out its flight so it zoomed along parallel to the ground at terrific speed. The sound he had heard was the wind whistling over the folded membrane of its wings. The dragon opened its jaws and he dove forward, grabbed Twilight around the middle and flung himself to the side, rolling over and over as the dragon let out a jet of flame. The dragon roared past them, followed by a cloud of dust whipping along in its wake, so quickly that the blast of fire was spread out into a long line, like a wall between him and the shrieks.

Firetooth heaved his bruised body to his feet while Twilight shook some black dust out of her fur. He took a few slightly dazed steps away from the wall of flame. Twilight darted out in front of him, then turned back and ran in an urgent loop around his legs before dashing forward again. _Hurry, hurry_, she was saying. He wanted to run after her, to use the few seconds of time it had bought him to make his escape, but then he realized he was being stupid. He was never going to outrun the shrieks, and even if he did, the archdemon would hunt him down just for the fun of it.

An Alpha had to make the hard decisions.

"Go," he commanded Twilight, speaking very clearly in the desperate hope that she would understand. "Run, run, run. Don't wait for me. Go..." He paused, not sure where he could tell her to go where she might have a hope of finding someone to care for her and, more importantly, a word that she would know. "Go home," he said finally.

She whimpered and twined around his legs beseechingly.

"Go run," he repeated, giving her a push. "Go home. Go home! Now!"

Twilight flattened her ears and hung her head, but she turned and began to trot away.

"Run!" Firetooth barked.

She whined in distress but began to lope, then run, her soot-covered body disappearing into the darkness. Only once he was sure she was gone did Firetooth turn to face the shrieks.

The first of the pack came howling over the ground with unnatural speed. Firetooth ran to meet its charge and it leaped into the air like a hunting spider. Firetooth ducked under the arm-blades and caught the thing in the chest with his shoulder; with a twist and a heave, the momentum of its leap turned against it and it was thrown face-first into the fiery wall. It squealed and thrashed, steam hissing out of the joints in its insectile armor, and Firetooth turned to meet the rest of the pack.

He had never been one for pithy comments or battle cries, and he did not make one now. He just crouched with his daggers in his hands and waited. The oncoming shrieks faltered and spread out, their dead eyes widening when they saw his face. _Good_, he thought, _they should be afraid_. Then he sprang.

For a few seconds, he was careful and intelligent. He kept the fire at his back so they couldn't flank him, and relied on the greater mobility of his own blades and the unpredictability of his movements. But then one of the shrieks turned and looked the direction Twilight had gone, and it opened its mouth as though to warn the others that some of their prey was getting away, and Firetooth snapped.

_They will die! They will all die for threatening _my_ pack!_

He threw himself at the dangerous shriek and slashed its throat before it could send the others after his dog, slashed it so viciously that the blade scraped bone. In so doing, he had moved away from the fire and the others were quick to seize the opportunity to surround him. He ducked and lunged, rolled and jumped, operating on some lingering animal instinct and fueled by a terrible fury, and all the while he attacked any opening he saw in the most brutal way possible. He stabbed a foot, kicked out at a knee and felt it crunch under his heel, grabbed an over-extended arm and twisted until something popped, gouged another's eyes and drove a fist into a convenient groin. There was no thought. Only destruction.

He was taking damage; he could feel the pain, but it was irrelevant beyond making the necessary adjustments to his tactics when one of his arms stopped obeying his commands, and he compensated for a growing weakness by pouring more rage onto the fire. He went down to the ground with a shriek underneath him, struggling wildly as he pressed his forearm over its throat. Its strange, four-sided mouth gaped at him and it clawed at his back. All Firetooth could do was lie there, but that was all he needed to do, and the weight of his body blocked the flow of blood to the brain until the wretched creature stopped fighting.

It was quiet. He heard nothing except the crackle of the dying fires and his own ragged breathing. His body began to shiver uncontrollably as the heat of battle faded, and he made a monumental effort to push himself up. Somewhere around here, he had dropped his bag, with that salve Will had given him, the one that had fixed his knee. If he could just get up and find it...

A spasm of pain shot through his arm when he tried to push himself up; the elbow gave out beneath him and he fell on his face in the dust. He groaned and curled up on his side. Maybe a short rest first was a good idea. Yes, it seemed like a very good idea not to move.

A sudden gust of wind blew grit into his face and he squinted one eye open to see the archdemon swooping, vulture-like, in lazy circles above him. He could see it cock its head when its baleful eye glinted in the firelight for a moment. Then it let out a satisfied huff and flapped its vast wings. Firetooth squeezed his eyes shut in the ensuing dust storm; when he opened them again, the dragon was flying ponderously away from him.

It wasn't until the dragon flared brightly with violent purple light and a gout of fire blasted into the ground beneath it that he realized it was chasing Twilight.


	33. New Goals

_This chapter picks up right where the last one left off. Thank you so much for reading! Especially I want to thank everyone who has favorited, put the story on alert, and left reviews. Knowing that others are reading what I write is both humbling and inspiring. As ever, my eternal gratitude to mille libri for beta duty, support, unflinching concrit, and the use of her kitchen ;)_

* * *

The dog called Twilight ran flat-out over the dark, blasted wasteland. She hurdled fallen trees, their blackened stumps reaching out like grasping hands as she passed over them, and stumbled painfully through the holes they had left behind when the ogres tore them up. Her body coiled and sprang, stretched out to the limit, and with every bound she let out a terrified whimper.

She scrambled over a rocky ridge and the dragon, the great hunter, spotted a flash of white fur; it let out a deep-chested roar and beat its impossibly long wings to give chase. The dog tucked her tail instinctively and darted off at an angle. Her new path passed under a huge oak tree's root mass, its roots spreading out as thick and strong as iron and with damp-smelling soil still packed tightly between them. The tree saved her life. The great hunter's fiery breath exploded against it, battering at the twisted root canopy that stood between it and its prey, but the thick wood was still green, and it resisted the fire.

The dog crouched in panicked indecision as the fire roared just over her head. Where to run now? She had no idea where she was going and had gotten all turned around. The tainted-sulfur stench of the hunter's fiery breath filled her nose and overpowered all other smells. Her alpha had ordered her to go _home_ but she was not sure where that was. To make matters worse, she was _very_ sure that her mother, who had been a fierce war dog, would never have run away and left her master to fight alone. A low growl vibrated in her chest as she considered turning around and going back to find her alpha, like a real war dog.

Then the canopy of roots over her head shook violently, sending down a shower of earth and sparks, and the great hunter's talons slashed through it just to the left of where she crouched. She yelped and bolted out from under the burning tree, scorching some fur off the top of her rump in the process, and she wasn't a war dog anymore. She was just a frightened puppy.

A rapidly tiring puppy, too, running and burning energy as though it were endless when in reality the end was fast approaching. The dragon looked up from tearing through the root mass, saw her, and shot a thin jet of flame at her, so hot it was almost invisible. The dog scrabbled over a boulder, the flame spattered harmlessly against the stone, and the chase was on again.

She sprinted past more boulders, vaguely aware that they were sort of squared-off and unnatural looking, but mostly too busy trying to get more air into her lungs and over her lolling tongue. The great hunter swooped past over her head with the wind of its passage whistling over its wings. It drew in its breath with a deep inrush of air and the dog tried to make another lighting-quick zigzag to safety.

This time, her exhausted muscles failed her. Instead of sailing over the fallen pillar that lay in her path, her chest smacked into its top edge, and with a yip of pain, she tumbled nose-first over the pillar and into a pile of charred brush even as another fireball erupted behind her. The concussion blew her harder into the brush. She flattened her ears and shut her eyes as she crashed through the brittle branches... and kept falling.

She hit a sloped surface about half a body-length below ground level, hard stone that was cushioned by musty-smelling fallen leaves. The dog rolled tail-over-head down the incline until she fetched up against a wall of some kind. Leaves and dirt protected her from the worst of the bruising stones, but she was still not a happy puppy. The great hunter was shrieking and flaming at the place where she had fallen through. The air grew hot and stank of rotten eggs. Clods of dirt and bits of flaming charcoal rained down through the hole; the dog cowered against the wall, too scared even to whimper.

And then, it stopped. No more fireballs shook the earth, and the dog lifted her head to listen. She could hear the wind over its wings as the hunter circled around the hole, and she could hear it grumbling to itself. A moment later, it flapped its wings, the taut membranes booming like a drum, and the sounds of its flight began to fade as it flew away. As it flew, it let out a strange, keening cry; the dog's ears pricked up at how sad and lonely it sounded.

It was gone.

But it might come back.

The dog decided to stay where she was, a decision influenced by the trembling in her legs. She nosed around in the leaves and dirt, trying to investigate the nature of the underground den, but the air still reeked, and it muffled all the smells. As a result, when she poked her nose into a sheltered space behind a rock, the rabbit was just as surprised as she was.

For an instant, both animals stood still and looked at each other in astonishment. Then the rabbit stamped his hind legs and made a break for it. But she was blocking its way, and when it dashed past her legs, she could no more have stopped herself from pouncing upon it than she could have stopped the sun from rising. It screamed when her jaws closed on its back and she was so startled by the loud noise that she almost dropped it, but then it flailed its legs and another instinct told her what to do. She shook it violently, which was really quite fun, so she did it again before she realized that the rabbit was quite dead now and, moreover, tasted excellent.

She devoured her kill, feeling very fierce and grown-up. Her master would be extremely pleased with her. Oh no – she had should have presented the kill to him! How disrespectful it was to hide something so delicious from the alpha! She jumped up and seized the shredded remains in her jaws to bring to him.

Then she remembered he had sent her away, and she had left him in terrible danger and run away.

Deeply ashamed, the dog dropped the remains and turned away from them. She curled up very tightly on a pile of leaves, tucking her short fringed tail between her legs, and soon fell into exhausted sleep.

It was quiet and dark underground, so the dog didn't wake up until the sun was high enough to shine down through the hole. She blinked sleepily, looking around at the inside of the den. It was a human place, for sure; the walls were straight and smooth, except for the one that had fallen over and provided a ramp up to a hole in the roof where she'd fallen in. It was really much bigger than she had thought. Lots of humans had lived here once, but their scent was gone now, so it must have been a long time ago.

It was a good place, she thought, but not for her. She needed to go _home_... wherever that was.

She scrambled up the ramp and emerged squinting into the bright sun. She lifted her nose to the wind and sniffed, but all she could smell around here was darkspawn, burnt wood, and tainted sulfur.

Her master had ordered her to _go home_, she knew, but maybe something had changed since then and he wouldn't mind if she came back to him instead. That would be much better than trying to find _home_ all by herself.

She turned and started to trot purposefully across the blackened earth, but after a few yards she realized she had no idea which direction to go. She had been so panicked and changed direction so often during her flight that now she felt quite lost. She paced back and forth, whining and agitated, but it was no good. Everything looked different during the daytime, and her nose was all full of charcoal dust after sniffing the ground in a futile attempt to find her own trail.

With a moan, she flopped down on the ground, sending up a cloud of ash. She felt sorry for herself for a few minutes before that got boring and she stood up again.

Well... if she couldn't find him, maybe she could find _home_. Maybe he would meet her there. Maybe he was there already! She trotted restlessly in a circle, struggling to think. _Home_ meant a den. Not just one where you spend the night, but one that the pack used all the time and where the puppies were born. Her current alpha denned in a different place every night, and that was very confusing.

She remembered having had a different alpha before, though. And having had a home.

The dog did not like remembering life before. She couldn't help also remembering the terrifying flight from their den and the darkspawn her mother and brother had fought so ferociously during the narrow escape. How the two of them had sickened soon after, and then one day they had disappeared and she couldn't find them no matter how long she looked. Most of all, she did not like to think about her alpha's inexplicable betrayal. (She had tried so hard to be good!) With dreadful clarity, again she felt the rough sack, the sudden fall, the shocking cold water, the searing pain in her lungs...

She coughed and shook herself as though she were wet, kicking up more of the burnt black dust, the sharp scent of which shattered the memory and reminded her of what she was doing. Yes... _Before_ that, in the soft pink distance, there was warmth, the smell of milk, and the feeling of her mother's tongue stroking her fur.

The place where pups are born. That was where she should go. And somehow she felt perfectly confident that she could find it; with that unerring instinct that leads a pack to the same den season after season, she turned her muzzle to the northeast and set off at a brisk trot.

* * *

Something pinched Firetooth's nose, hard. His eyes flew open, blurred, then tried to cross in order to focus on the crow that was staring at him from about two inches away. Experimentally, the carrion crow pecked his nose again, wrenching its beak to see if any edible bits would come off.

"Ow!" Firetooth shouted and tried to slap at the bird. One of his arms was broken, though, and the other was stiff and clumsy, and the unimpressed bird merely fluttered away to stare at him from a nearby dead snag.

Firetooth groaned and let his head fall back to the dead earth. His eyes burned from the smoke of last night's fires, and his lips were cracked and parched. _Everything_ hurt. He was just starting to work up some really intense self-pity when he heard the bird flap down from the snag and strut towards him. Instantly the self-pity was replaced with indignant anger. That stupid bird wanted to _eat_ him! No ugly flying rat was going to get away with trying to take a bite out of _him_. Ha – if it thought it could just mosey on over and rip off a strip of werewolf for supper, well, he would just show it how wrong it was.

He squinted one eye open just enough to watch the bird's progress over the ground. Prudence made him flex his non-broken arm and hand to test its strength, and the bird hopped back a step, eying the hand warily. Firetooth held still and tried to look dead. It was depressingly easy. Reassured, the bird strutted a few steps closer and started to inch its way back towards his face. It stretched out its long neck to aim a peck at his eye...

Firetooth's hand closed around its neck. The crow went mad with fright, flapping and beating at him with its wings. That hurt, and his battered knuckles screamed with pain, but he held on grimly and began to bash the bird's head against the hard ground until its neck snapped.

There. Honor restored, he released the limp body and began slowly, painfully, to push himself upright. The broken arm really was in bad shape. There were a couple of nasty slices on his legs and an oozing wound in his side that would probably kill him in another day or two. The headache alone was enough to make a man want to lie down and die.

That wasn't going to happen. He had a job to do first. Maybe after that he could think about dying.

He saw his backpack a few yards away and dragged himself over to it. He fumbled with shaking fingers through the contents until they closed on a small, earthenware jar. With a cry of relief, he pulled it out, but it wasn't the elfroot – it was the stuff that Dane had given him, the medicine he was supposed to give to Twilight if she swallowed darkspawn blood. The disappointment brought tears to his eyes, or maybe it was the memory of her fleeing in the night that made him cry. Then he remembered the archdemon hunting his beloved packmate with fire and cruel fangs, and the tears dried in his hot eyes.

He rummaged around some more until he found the jar he was looking for. The ointment went on the belly wound first, then everywhere else that blood still leaked. The tingling cessation of pain made him moan with relief, and within a few minutes he felt both stronger and ravenously hungry.

His eyes lit up when they fell on the dead crow. He managed to saw off the breast meat one-handed using his dagger, and stuffed it into his mouth still dripping.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

Getting the rest of the meat off was going to take more effort, though. He glared at his broken arm, disgusted by its uselessness. Well, time to start fixing that. He remembered what the old woman, Wynne, had done the last time his arm was broken; he didn't have anyone around to help him, though, so he'd have to do it himself. He crouched and let the broken arm hang freely so that the hand rested on the ground. Gently, he stepped on the hand to anchor it in place. Then he took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and leaned back, pulling hard on the broken arm to force it straight. He heard the same grinding noises and felt the same agony, followed by an incremental lessening of the pain and pressure when the broken bones slid into their proper place.

After smearing the rest of the elfroot over his arm, he picked up the little pot of medicine Dane had given him. He figured the odds were pretty good that he'd gotten some darkspawn blood in his mouth. The contents of the jar smelled okay, sort of floral. After a moment's thought, he swallowed the jar's entire contents, licking the inside to get every bit of it.

The sun was just setting as he leaned back against a charred tree trunk with a sigh. Its rays shone on the underbellies of the clouds and reflected bright pink, the rosy light lost on the blighted landscape. Firetooth keenly felt the absence of a certain warm, soft presence curled up against his leg; his brain presented him with the image of a huddled skeleton lying in a ditch somewhere, tendrils of smoke still rising from charred bones... He shuddered back from the thought. Now that he'd satisfied the urgent needs of his body to occupy his mind, he was finding it harder to stay calm and in control of his emotions. And he needed to stay in control, because he had a tough job ahead of him.

His own failings had cost him his mate and his original pack, and he'd slunk away with his tail tucked because it was all his fault. This time, he'd done everything right and some jackass had swooped in and ruined it.

The destruction of his pack could not go unpunished.

Tonight, he thought, he would have to sleep. Tomorrow, he would hunt the archdemon. And when he found that son of a bitch, he was going to kill it.

"Enjoy your last days, dragon," he growled as he watched the sky deepen from pink to bloody red. "I'm coming for you."


	34. Holiday Interlude

The first snowflake of the year floated, deliciously languid, on a teasing eddy of wind. With her tongue outstretched, Hope scampered back and forth beneath it in breathless anticipation as she tried to follow its dance. Freida watched, her arms bare to the elbow as she absently stirred a vat of soap, as the delicate snowflake veered at the very last minute and landed on the little girl's nose instead of her tongue. Hope let out a little squeak of surprise and her eyes crossed as she tried to focus on the tip of her own nose, and Frieda let out a laugh.

"You caught it! Good job, honey," she called out from the shed, where she was working.

Hope looked up and tensed briefly, like a startled deer, but she recovered quickly and nodded in grave acknowledgment of Frieda's statement. It made Frieda's heart hurt to see that serious look on the face of a girl who should still be playing with dollies and getting grass stains on her knees. It was the look of an old man who had seen too much of the world's dark underside. And then it was gone, another snowflake flitting past her face and instantly capturing her full attention, and the little girl ran after it with her tongue determinedly thrust out.

Frieda looked down at the foul-smelling vat of soap. Though it was a hot and unpleasant job, the soap needed to be made, and this batch had to be cooked longer and then poured out and cut into bars before the task would be complete. The chickens needed their coops cleaned, and she really should make some more headway on carding that new batch of wool if she wanted to have any hope of weaving it into a blanket before the bitter cold of midwinter set in. The linens needed washing and airing. The gutters needed cleaning. And somehow, despite all the demands on her time, she needed to make time to cook dinner for her husband and their son to eat when they returned from a hard day of work.

Hope ran past her field of view again, now running at random with her mouth open as the skies opened up and the snow began to fall in clouds. Someday, Frieda thought, Hope was going to have to live the life of a country woman, with all its hard work and heartbreak and hard-earned rewards.

There would always be time for work, and always more work to do. Childhood was fleeting, and there was never enough joy.

"Hope, honey," she called, "this early snow's got me in a Satinalia mood. What do you say we get a head start on the decorating and baking?"

Hope slipped and slid to a stop in the thin layer of slush – the snow wasn't sticking, the ground not yet frozen – and looked at her blankly for a moment as though she'd forgotten the holiday. Then her face brightened and she said, "Cookies?"

"Of course!"

Together they brought down the bright ribbons and swags, and they cut fresh boughs from the holly bush hedge that kept the sheep out of the garden. After hanging the beribboned boughs over the door, Frieda opened a cask of cider and set it to simmer with one of their precious sticks of cinnamon, filling the humble house with its fragrance, and then they set to the serious business of baking cookies. They chopped walnuts, mixed dough, formed it into balls and rolled those balls in the nuts.

"Now this is your most important job," Frieda told the little girl, who stood on a stool beside her. "Only a child can do this job, and Willem's not here, so I need you to do it. I need you to take your thumb, and press it down on the cookie to make a hole." Frieda demonstrated, though her own thumb made much too large a hole.

Hope nodded and bent over the sheet of cookies, her lower lip sticking out in concentration. Part of the charm of thumbprint cookies, Frieda thought, was the fact that they never came out perfect. The hole was always off-center, too deep, too shallow, or accidentally smooshed the entire cookie in half. Hope fussed over a broken cookie until Frieda told her that she should "save" the cookie by eating it immediately, raw. This was an acceptable solution.

While the cookies baked, Frieda set another pot over the fire and filled it with water, carrots, and split peas. It wasn't her most gourmet meal, but it was filling, and she had important business to attend to.

"Now, do you want raspberry jam or strawberry on those cookies?" she asked Hope, holding up two small jars of her own preserves.

Hope wrung her hands in an agony of indecision.

"How about both?"

Hope nodded so hard her ponytail bounced wildly up and down. They began spooning the jam into the finished cookies, filling the holes left by Hope's thumb.

Watching Hope's efforts to pile more jam onto a cookie than could possibly fit, Frieda suggested, "Maybe that's enough jam."

"Nuh-uh," she said distractedly. She fished a big chunk of strawberry out of the jar and balanced it on top of the jam pile. After examining it from several directions, she was finally satisfied that there was no way to add any more jam, and stuffed the overloaded cookie into her mouth.

"Is it good?" Frieda asked, amused.

"Mm-hmm."

"Shall we finish the rest?"

"Mm-hmm!" Hope wiped her mouth with her hand, smearing red jam across her face, and settled down once more to push the boundaries of just how much jam a cookie could take.

They were on the last row of cookies when someone knocked on the door. Frieda raised her voice to be heard from the kitchen. "Come around back! It's open."

Boots squelched in the slush as the visitor circled the house. The back door opened and Gatekeeper stepped in, his movements somehow tentative, as though unsure of his welcome. Snowflakes dusted his shoulders and clung to his gray-shot hair, and he had a new scar across the back of his right hand, the skin pink and shiny. His eyes flicked around the room and when he saw Hope, he went very still.

The girl's eyes widened. Then she snatched a cookie in each fist and ran, jam dripping between her fingers, to thrust the cookies at Gatekeeper, radiating pride. "I made these," she announced.

Gatekeeper's cold-reddened cheeks went pale, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Frieda realized he had never heard Hope talk before – for that matter, it was the first complete sentence Frieda herself had heard from her. Very carefully, Gatekeeper went down on one knee, lowering himself to her level. In a soft voice, he said, "They smell good. What are they?"

"Cookies! Eat them," she commanded, and shoved one cookie into his mouth, liberally smearing red jam over his chin in the process. Then she stepped back, a sort of quivering uncertainty in her posture, suddenly worried how her boldness might be taken.

Gatekeeper gulped, managed not to choke on jam, and smiled. "Mmmm."

Her face lit up as brilliant as the summer sun, and she flung herself at him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket in her sticky little hands and burying her face in his chest. Gatekeeper closed his arms very gently around her tiny shoulders. He raised his head to meet Frieda's gaze, his own eyes shimmering with tears. "Thank you," he whispered.

"It was my pleasure," Frieda said, smiling. "Will you stay for dinner?"

"If I'm welcome."

"Of course you are!"

Gatekeeper grinned and lifted his chin to sniff appreciatively at the air. "In that case, I definitely want to share some of what smells so good."

* * *

_This entirely spontaneous interlude popped into my head while I was doing the Christmas Eve baking. We'll get back to Twilight's plight and the other wolves soon, but until then, I hope you enjoy this :)_

_**Jam Thumbprint Cookies**_

_2/3 cup butter_

_1 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour_

_1/2 cup sugar_

_2 egg yolks_

_1 teaspoon vanilla_

_2 slightly beaten egg whites_

_1 cup finely chopped walnuts_

_Jam_

_Preheat oven to butter, sugar, vanilla and egg yolks together until light and creamy. Slowly add the flour until it forms a dough (don't overmix)._

_Form dough into 1-inch balls. Dip the balls into egg whites, then roll in walnuts to coat. _

_Place the cookies on a greased cookie sheet and press the centers with your finger (or a child's thumb!) to make a well for the jam. Bake for 10 minutes or until edges begin to turn golden. Remove and cool on a rack._

_When cool, fill the wells with jam. I like using more than one kind for the different colors, although mille libri and I discovered that cherry preserves are especially awesome and deserve a large share. Thanks, mille libri, and I'm looking forward to baking with Crewell Lye next week too! _


	35. Pack Dynamics

A dog traveling alone can cover a great deal more ground each day than if she is hampered by a plodding human. Twilight never could understand why they insisted on balancing on their hind legs like that, but humans were strange in a lot of ways. It seemed so precarious, and it was definitely slow. But their forepaws were quite clever. Maybe they were sensitive, like her nose. Ooh! Deer poop! She swerved to a stop and buried her nose in the leaves to sniff.

Despite olfactory distractions, and the aching hunger that was never quite assuaged by the berries and mice she caught, her meandering path trended steadily towards a village at the southern edge of the Redcliffe arling (although of course she didn't think of it in those geographic terms). When she began to pass stretches of scorched and blighted fields, she knew she was getting close. Once, a blight wolf howled in the distance, and she huddled, trembling, under a log and listened until she heard him howl again and could be sure he was moving away from her. Also under the log were a number of very juicy worms, which she ate.

Moving out from under the log was hard. She was tired; she wasn't very good at time and wasn't sure how many days she had been traveling, but she was sure that it had been a long journey, at least by puppy standards. She considered staying there under the log, but then what would she do? Better to keep going. Off she went.

When she found her village, she almost went around it without stopping. It looked nothing like what she remembered. The walls were all broken down, everything made of wood had been burned, and the place stank of blight and dried-out carrion instead of milk and dogs. Nothing moved inside it except for a few crows, whose ragged feathers and glazed eyes showed her that they were sick and soon would die. But the windmill was still upright, the vanes turning sluggishly even though their canvas hung in scorched tatters, and when its moving shadow startled her, she recognized it.

The dog turned and climbed the hill to the base of the windmill where she could hide in its shadow and see the lay of the land. She plopped down on her haunches and looked around, her ears drooping in dismay. This was not right. Where was the food? The safe shelter and companionship? No wonder her pack had fled; this den was destroyed.

Whining, she stretched out her forelegs and laid her chin upon them. For a while she just lay there and felt sad. Then she heard a sound and jumped up, her ears pricked forward, short tail quivering, one paw raised.

Creaking wheels, horseshoes clopping against hard-packed earth.

"...worse than I expected." Male. Mature.

"Then it's good we came to see it." Male. Sad. She saw movement, dust rising in the still air down by the north gate of the village, but the people were hidden from her view behind houses.

"I could have told you both that it was bad... sers. We didn't need to waste time coming all the way down here. Latitia must be almost at Denerim by now." Also male, but younger. Anxious.

The first voice said, "I know, Alistair, but the more witnesses, the better. And this borough lies within Redcliffe. It's my duty to see firsthand what my landholders have suffered."

"Alistair has a point, though, brother," came the second voice. "We should not stay here a moment longer than necessary. If we turn northeast now, we can be out of the wasteland in time for supper."

Supper! Twilight made an eager sound and her tail began to wag hopefully.

"After I've seen you safe to the highway, I have to take my leave of you," the second voice continued. "Redcliffe Village is in desperate need of leadership, and with you gone, it falls to me to offer it."

"Thank you, Teagan."

"Great, let's go – hey!" The youngest voice cut off, startled. "Where are you going? There's no rabbits out here, silly dog!"

And then, the most magnificent male mabari came loping around a house and stopped to sniff the air. His scarred nose caught her scent and he bounded straight up the hill towards Twilight. Battle marks showed through his light brown fur, especially a fearsome old wound over his spine and long claw marks along his flanks, and his body rippled with hard muscle, mute evidence that this was a dog not to be taken lightly. Overcome with awe, Twilight sank to the ground, flattening her ears to her neck to make herself small, squinting her eyes and pulling her lips away from her front teeth in abject submission.

The impressive mabari came to stand over her with stiff legs and proud upraised head, and she licked her nose and rolled onto her side to offer her belly. He bent to sniff her hindquarters, then graciously stepped back to let her up. Ecstatic, Twilight rolled to her feet and snuffled and licked his mouth like a pup should, patting the ground with her dancing feet and wiggling her short tail hard enough to make her whole body writhe.

He put a stop to her silliness by pressing his heavy muzzle down on her neck,making her go still except for her wiggling tail; his forehead wrinkled when he felt her thin shoulders and bones through her fur and he let out a huff of disapproval. He whirled and set off purposefully down the hill, and Twilight scurried along behind him at a polite distance, trying to emulate his massive grace and failing utterly.

They rounded a house and entered the village square, and Twilight followed the mabari up to a carriage with two horses hitched in front and three men standing around near it. Quickly she evaluated the men. Two of them were showing deference to the one with gray fur and hard gray eyes, so she judged him their alpha. His approval would be necessary. But, the other men looked like easier targets. The one with blond fur and shiny armor especially looked like he could be counted upon to melt immediately under the warmth of her cuteness.

"Rocky, what did you find now?" the armored one said. "A lost dog?"

"Poor thing," said the second man, the one with brown fur and a kind smile. "It's so young. It must be starving."

The mabari, who must be called Rocky, sat in front of the armored one and woofed. Twilight recognized her cue and turned on the cuteness. Her tail wagged so hard it flapped against her rump with each stroke as she wriggled and twined around the armored man's legs, licking his hands. Then she leaned on his knee and gazed up at him with huge, liquid eyes.

"Awwwwww," he said, helpless against the puppy eyes. "Look at her, Teagan. She's so cute." He knelt and stroked her head and back. "Maker's breath, you're so skinny! You must be so hungry! Do you want some cheese?"

YES! YES! CHEESE! Twilight's mouth filled with saliva and she stared hard at him, willing him to produce the food.

"Um, Alistair," the brown-furred man said, a warning in his voice. He was looking closely at her, a line appearing between his eyebrows. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"What are you talking about? Of course I should!" Alistair's hand was already moving towards the pouch at his waist. Twilight swallowed hard and stared at the hand. Rocky barked agreement.

Teagan came closer and ran his hand along her spine, then cupped his palm under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "She's a mule. A mabari mix."

"So?"

"So, they're illegal." Teagan released her head, biting his lip with worry. "They're supposed to be culled at birth. The law says she should be put down so she doesn't breed."

"No!" Alistair gasped and hugged her to his chest. The movement startled her until Rocky lunged forward to crouch between them and Teagan, snarling. Then she realized they were protecting her. This Teagan seemed perfectly nice to her, but clearly the other males thought he was terribly dangerous. Suddenly fearful, she squirmed in Alistair's arms, climbing all the way up into his lap.

"I don't like the idea either. I'm not proposing we do it," Teagan said quickly. "But if you feed her, she'll just keep following you. Eventually someone will notice when you take her into the city and insist on enforcing the law."

"Why can't we just spay her, then?" Alistair protested.

"The law was put into place before that procedure was well known," the gray-eyed alpha said in quiet, neutral tones. "It was never changed because, unlike with males, there's no way to prove that a bitch has definitely been spayed."

"Well, that is absolute nonsense," Alistair said. "I'm conscripting this dog into the Gray Wardens. She's a Gray Warden dog now. Nothing you can do about it."

"I'm not sure the right of conscription applies to dogs," the alpha said.

"She's Gray Warden property and therefore no longer under the jurisdiction of Ferelden law," Alistair said firmly.

"That's good enough for me," Teagan said with a sidelong look to his older brother.

"Fine," the alpha said. "But, Teagan, you have to keep her with you. The last thing we need is for people to start accusing Alistair and myself of behaving in flagrantly anti-Ferelden ways."

"Killing an innocent puppy is a lot more anti-Ferelden if you ask me," Alistair muttered. "But, you're right. She shouldn't come with us to Denerim."

Rocky whined as he looked from Twilight to Teagan.

"Aw, I know you want to keep her," Alistair said to him. "But if you take her with us, she's going to have to fight darkspawn."

Rocky woofed a vehement disagreement.

"I know she's too young, that's my point," Alistair said.

Rocky's head drooped as he acquiesced to his person's wishes.

"But first, little girl," Alistair turned to Twilight, "we need to get you some cheese. And meat, too, I've got some jerky around somewhere..."

* * *

Firetooth killed three more genlocks after they tromped noisily past his hiding spot just before dawn. That brought the night's total to sixteen, a personal best. He celebrated by eating the liver of the deer the genlocks had been bringing back to their horde. Most of the time, the liver and other desirable offal would be presented to the alpha's mate in the hopes that it would help her bear more pups; devouring the whole thing himself felt like a huge indulgence for almost five minutes before he started wishing he had _his_ mate to share it with.

Such thoughts plagued him when he had nothing to do. It was fortunate, then, that he was thoroughly occupied during most of his waking hours with the biggest hunt of his life.

Tracking the archdemon was, of course, simplicity itself. The challenge lay in dealing with its absurdly large pack. There were simply too many of them to be believed. He spent a great deal of his time thinking about how best to sneak or fight his way through to reach his prey. When he had the opportunity, he practiced killing darkspawn. He was getting pretty good at it; they were admirably fierce, but very stupid, and they had no ability to imagine new ways to do things. When confronted with the unexpected, they tended to fall back on the same basic moves, and Firetooth ensured that would prove fatal.

He still hadn't figured out exactly how he should actually kill the archdemon, once he was able to reach it. It had to die, of course. But the practical considerations were baffling. For example, cutting the hamstrings had always been his preferred way to deal with foes much larger than himself. It crippled them and leveled the playing field. But did a dragon even have hamstrings? If it did, they would have to be at least as big around as his arm, and it would take him a good five minutes to saw through one with his daggers.

He resolved to look for a larger weapon as soon as the horde passed within a range of a settlement. Perhaps a handaxe, something small enough to carry on his back until the moment came to use it.

It felt good to have a plan. He settled back into the crook of the tree, nestling into the soft fallen leaves. Hunger gnawed at him again, unexpectedly, and he in turn gnawed at the deer. Then he pulled up his pant leg to examine his left calf. All his cuts had been healed neatly by the elfroot poultice, except for this one, where a dark, bruise-like mark remained. It felt slightly feverish to the touch.

Was this blight sickness? If so, it wasn't so bad. Really, he didn't know why people made such a fuss over it. Perhaps the flower stuff Dane had given him was keeping it at bay. Even so, he thought, he had better make sure to kill the archdemon as soon as possible. It wouldn't do to fail in his task just because he'd died of blight before he could finish it.

* * *

Sundancer was supervising her female packmates in the grinding of willow bark and cloves into a fine paste (an excellent pain reliever, she had been told) when Mayor Murdock leaned his head through the infirmary door. The sun was shining in through the narrow windows, the ladies were gathered in happy chattering groups, and the Mayor's habitual scowl lightened noticeably at the sight.

"Hello, ladies," he said, touching his forelock.

"Hello, Mayor Murdock," chorused the women, turning bright smiles towards him.

Murdock's mouth actually turned up at the corners, just a little bit, before he got down to business. "I've received word that Ser Perth is returning with the rest of your, uh, menfolk. They're bringing a goodly number of the wounded and sick with them and we're definitely going to need your facility."

Sundancer paled; beside her, Blossom's hands tightening on her pestle. "Wounded?"

"Not your wounded," he hastened to assure her. "Farmers and villagers and the like."

"Oh!" Sundancer's back felt suddenly weak with relief and her shoulders slumped. "All right. Thank you, ser. We'll get ready."

He nodded politely and left. As soon as he did, Clearwater asked, "Do you think the alpha will award mates after this mission?"

Her question was met with excited twittering mixed with a certain amount of trepidation. Sundancer thought about it. "I don't know. He might. Someone might have done something impressive. Maybe he'll finally convince Gatekeeper to take a mate. Or maybe he will appoint a new Striker."

The prospect of being given to Gatekeeper was an appealing one, to judge by the murmurs that went through the room. But then again, as Ambereyes pointed out, if anyone was to be the new Striker, it would probably be Bonecrusher. _Nobody_ wanted to belong to Bonecrusher.

"I don't see why anyone should want to be mated," Ambereyes said with a toss of her head. "It's like being a slave."

"It has its benefits," Sundancer said. Already her belly warmed with the thought of being reunited with Swiftrunner, while her eyes went to the crib a few steps away with its sleeping occupants.

Ambereyes snorted. "Yes, if you get to be alpha bitch as a result. The rest of us don't. We just end up losing what little freedom we have. At least Swiftrunner mostly leaves us alone to do as we like. Sex can't possibly be good enough to make up for being subject to the whim of a man."

"It is if you get the right man," Blossom said, a trifle smugly.

"Stop it, you," Ambereyes leaned over and swatted her knee. "Bad enough we have to listen to you at night without you bragging during the day. And not everyone is so lucky, I mean, it could go wrong and we could end up like – er, we might not get along. It's better not to take that chance, in my opinion. If Swiftrunner tries to give me away, I think I'll say no."

Sundancer looked quickly to Nightsong. She had sat silently grinding herbs throughout the conversation, her gaze locked on her task. She gave no sign that she had heard Ambereyes' careless use of her as an argument against the entire institution of mating, but it had to have hurt. Sundancer cleared her throat. "That's enough, ladies. Swiftrunner isn't going to give you to anyone you don't like. And... things are changing. When everything has settled down a little more, we're going to have to take a fresh look at pack law. In the meantime, we have other things to keep us busy."

"Do you think the men will be back in time to have dinner with us?" Blossom asked, glancing out at the afternoon sunlight.

"Maybe," Sundancer said. "But I'm more concerned about whether there will be an infirmary's worth of wounded and sick people having dinner with us. Blossom, why don't you go and ask the cooks to make up some soup just in case?"

"Sure!"

Blossom got up quickly enough to spark a giggle from Clearwater, who said, "Maybe I should go with you to make sure you don't eat it all yourself."

Blossom flushed. "I can't help it, I'm hungry all the time." Her hand went unconsciously to the carved pendant around her neck. It had been a gift from the strange little dwarf, Sandal, and was a cause of much envy from the women who hadn't received any jewelry of their own yet.

Sundancer's eyes narrowed speculatively. "Don't make fun of her, Clearwater. I said that's enough silliness. We have work to do."

"And you want to have time for a bath before Swiftrunner comes home," Nightsong whispered teasingly. In reply, Sundancer reached out and pulled the dark-haired woman's kerchief down over her face.

* * *

_Thank you all for reading, favoriting, alerting and especially reviewing – your generosity makes my whole week :) Special thanks to mille libri and Crewell Lye for beta duty! _

_Happy New Year!_


	36. Gathering Storm

_Hello everyone! I'm not dead, I promise, and neither is the story. Please don't load be on to the cart just yet ;) thank you so much for reading, you guys are the best. I finally got speech recognition to work on windows, so they have high hopes that I won't need to use the keyboard all the time to write. Many thanks as always to my awesome beta reader, mille libri! _

* * *

Gatekeeper worked with Hope to herd the bantam hens into a pen, where Frieda captured each one and stuffed it into a wicker basket. The last hen flapped with contrary determination until it managed to roost in a tree out of reach; Frieda moved to fetch a stepladder, but Gatekeeper stopped her. "There's no time. The bird will be safe enough from the darkspawn if it stays out of reach."

"All right," Frieda said in a small voice. "I'll just, um, halter the cow and get her ready to go."

Gatekeeper felt confident that the chickens would be welcomed into the shelter of Redcliffe castle, since they were capable of magically turning garbage scraps and bugs into food. He was less sure of the cow and her heifer. The herds his pack had been pushing ahead of them were now being driven north into the dubious safety of the Frostbacks, there to hide in the foothills, because the castle's livestock pens were overflowing. But it was just possible that this cow would be allowed in by virtue of her milk, which was still heavy at a time of year when most cows were beginning to run dry. So he had been told by Frieda, anyway.

Allan Farrier, the alpha male of this family, emerged from the house with a canvas duffel and threw it onto the wagon. His young son Wilbur mimicked him with a much smaller package a moment later. The short, ugly draft horse wasn't at all pleased to still be in harness; after a full day of pulling Allen's mobile workshop around and idly watching other horses getting shoed, the horse believed he had earned his rest, and made his displeasure clear by pointedly turning his head away from anyone who walked by him.

A hollow rumbling sound preceded the small caravan that pulled to a stop in front of the Farriers' house. Four wagons pulled by similar stumpy horses were heaped with household goods. One held a trio of appalled sheep in its rear; another trailed a string of horses, two mares and their foals from the previous spring.

A man in red flannel waved and shouted to Allan from his seat on the lead wagon. "Come on, you lot. We still gots to pick up the Evertons and the Wilbrants yet and time's wasting."

Frieda promptly burst into tears.

"Don't cry, birdie, please don't cry." Allan pulled his mate into a tight embrace, his ears reddening at having the private moment witnessed by the other men. "We'll all be just fine."

"I know." Her shoulders shook. "It's just... does Wilbur really have to go with you? Can't he come with me to the castle? He's only nine!"

Gatekeeper felt like an intruder. He turned his back and began double-checking the latches on the chickens' baskets, then the knots that kept them from falling out of the wheelbarrow. Hope followed him closely and clutched at her stuffed dog, casting distressed looks at Frieda.

"He's a good, steady boy," Allan said stoutly. "He's strong for his age and he'll be no end of helpful to me and the other lads. It's time he star learning to be a man."

Gatekeeper nodded to himself while their conversation continued in the background. Their plan made perfect sense to him because it was just what his pack would have done. The castle could not possibly be made to hold everyone, and so many of the farming families had decided that their males should pack up their valuables and escape to the north, leaving their females and very young to hide in the fortified den. For one thing, the horses themselves represented a huge investment, without which most of these men would be without a livelihood. Together, the work-hardened men reckoned they could handle any bandits they crossed paths with on the way.

Frieda reappeared at his side, rubbing at her face with a handkerchief, her tearful farewells concluded. Gatekeeper looked in time to catch Allan's incongruously cheerful wave goodbye, which he returned, admiring the man's persistent optimism.

"Come on," Frieda said, her voice still hoarse with tears. "Best get there early, like you said."

Gatekeeper smiled at her and bent to take up the handles of the wheelbarrow, the small sack containing Hope's clothes and toys already on his back. Frieda shouldered the bag that held her own clothing and sundries as well as grain for the cow, whom she led by a rope halter, and the little group left the farmhouse and headed downhill towards the castle.

Gatekeeper's muscles ached down to his bones. Weeks of forced marches punctuated by desperate fighting had worn through his reserves and left him feeling strangely flat, almost too tired to worry. Almost. The rest of his pack had gone straight to bed as soon as Ser Perth dismissed them, but he had come straight here to find Hope, and stayed to help the Farriers' pack. He wished he could do more, but he had to settle for pushing the wheelbarrow, enduring the pain in his feet and back a little longer.

For a few minutes, they were following the wagon train. Then the road forked, they parted ways, and Frieda walked with her head down after that. Hope's distress grew as they went farther from her home until Gatekeeper paused and lifted her up onto his shoulders, where she clung to his ears. It hurt a little, but Gatekeeper didn't complain. She knew something was very wrong, and people were upset, but couldn't quite understand why, leaving her with nothing but confusion and sourceless dread.

They crested the last hill before descending into the village, and Gatekeeper groaned. There was already a line backed up all the way to the village square. Castle guards were going up and down the line, arguing with villagers and refugees about what they could and could not bring with them into the castle. Excess luggage was left in piles at the side of the road next to confused little flocks of rejected sheep. Infants wailed.

"Oh no," Frieda said when she saw the line.

Gatekeeper shook his head. "No. We're not going to wait in that. I'll..." He paused in thought, suddenly unsure whether any exceptions would be allowed. He himself was already assured of a place and already had all his stuff in the barracks, but he wasn't an alpha to go around making new rules for his friends, and after all, Frieda and her livestock weren't even his. "Can you manage the barrow and the cow by yourself?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

"All right. Go ahead and get in line, just in case. I'll take Hope straight in, and see what I can do once I've talked to my al – my commander."

"Well, as long as the little one is safe and sound, that's what matters," Frieda said with a brave smile.

Gatekeeper lengthened his stride and left Frieda behind as he made haste to the castle. He hesitated slightly when he thought about taking Hope through that crowd, and he stopped long enough to lift her down from his shoulders and carry her against his chest, holding his cloak over her to hide her from curious eyes. The little girl whimpered and pressed her face into his shirt as he pushed through the edge of the crowd towards the gate and the frustrated villagers raised their voices in protest.

"You stop right there." A castle guard lowered his pike to block his path. "Go back to the end of the line right now, before you start a riot."

"I'm Sergeant Gatekeeper with the First Mobile Auxiliaries," Gatekeeper told the guard.

"Oh. The new guys." The guard scowled in the darkness under his helmet and he raised his pike out of Gatekeeper's way. The guard's eyes flicked over the bulge under Gatekeeper's cloak, paused on the small hand that gripped a fistful of the fabric, and passed on without comment.

The rising wind tugged hard at the edges of his cloak as he strode across the bridge in the last of the sunset light. The darkspawn army would arrive in a matter of hours, and everyone had to be safely inside before then. He forced his tired legs to walk a bit faster.

Inside the castle was controlled chaos. Bann Teagan and Mother Hannah directed the incoming refugees to one berth or another, sending individuals and families shuffling off with detailed directions to their assigned spot. Fifteen square feet per person. Gatekeeper whispered a quiet prayer of thanks to his lost Lady that his people had their own building, cramped though it was, and bypassed the lines to go straight there.

The pack's barracks lacked its usual boisterous atmosphere, the men just now waking up from their exhausted midday sleep in order to wolf down a thick mutton stew. The young and the females had joined them for the meal and they looked up when they heard the door open.

"Gatekeeper!" Sundancer exclaimed. She jumped up from Swiftrunner's lap and ran to throw her arms around him, rising up on her tiptoes and tilting her face so he could kiss her cheek. "I'm so glad you're all right. We've missed our Gatekeeper! Oh – but – what's this?"

She had reached out to take what she must have assumed was just a sack in his arms, and the "sack" had squirmed away from her touch. "Not what," Gatekeeper said gently. "Who."

Her lips formed an O, and then to his astonishment her hands flew to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Gatekeeper. I'm so happy for you."

"What's going on?" Swiftrunner pushed his bowl away and stood up.

"Mistress, she's frightened of strangers," Gatekeeper whispered urgently. Other faces were looking on, and in a moment they would be mobbed by curious packmates. He could feel Hope trembling.

Sundancer caught on at once and spun on her heel, eyes flashing. "Everyone stay where you are." People froze in the act of standing up, wobbled for a second, then sat back down, stunned. Swiftrunner raised his eyebrows at her, and she blushed. "Except you, of course."

"Can we-"

"Yes, come on." She bustled off at speed. Her mate picked up the bassinet that held their babies and followed, and the lot of them went upstairs to the alpha's suite.

"Seriously," Swiftrunner said as soon as the door shut behind them, "what's going on? What is this?"

Sundancer beamed. "This is the reason our Gatekeeper has been so distracted."

Gatekeeper dropped gratefully into one of the soft chairs in front of the fireplace. His feet ached all the way up to his knees. The movement pulled the edge of his cloak down off Hope's head and she turned huge eyes up towards the two strangers, who melted.

"This is Hope," he told his alphas, then looked down at the anxious little face. "Hope, these are my friends. We are sleeping here tonight, with my friends. Want to say hello?"

"Nn-_nnn_," Hope said firmly and turned away, pressing her cheek against his chest, but kept one suspicious eye on the proceedings.

Female young had always been rare and treasured by his pack, and though there might be many girls in the pack's future, that made little difference now. Sundancer, nearly beside herself with delight, exclaimed, "Isn't she _darling!_" and immediately rushed out of the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges behind her.

Swiftrunner watched her go, then shrugged and set the laden bassinet down at the foot of their bed. Gatekeeper recognized his expression as one worn by males who, confronted by a female behaving oddly, had decided not to ask questions. One of the infants stirred and made a small annoyed sound, and Swiftrunner began rocking the bassinet back and forth gently.

"How long have you been keeping this sweet little secret?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"I found her gone feral in the house Alpha Teagan gave me." Gatekeeper smiled a little, thinking back. "Turned out young humans are much easier to tame than young werewolves. She hasn't once tried to rip out my throat with her teeth. Instead, she was just... so fragile and scared. She needed peace."

"You could have just asked me not to visit. I would have respected your territory. You should have told me something this important. What have I done to you that when push came to bite, you didn't trust me even to know she existed?" Swiftrunner was keeping his voice calm and relaxed for the benefit of all the young in the room, but Gatekeeper winced at the words. His alpha, his _friend_.

"Nothing," he said. "It's nothing you've done. I just – I haven't – I'm sorry. Life has not taught me to trust others with the safety of..." His throat closed up before he could finish the sentence.

"I'm not Red Fang," Swiftrunner said quietly.

"I'm sorry." Gatekeeper stared unseeing at the rug, ashamed. He had never actually thought about his decision to keep Hope hidden even from his alpha and oldest friend. Of course it would have been better to tell him, to gain his support and protection for Hope. Instead, he had acted out of fear and instinct instead of using his head, and he'd made things worse for everyone.

"Well, it's done," Swiftrunner said with a sigh, leaning against a bedpost. He reached up with his free hand to rub tiredly at his forehead. "I'm glad you brought her now, anyway. Safest place is in here with us."

"I never wanted to love anyone ever again." The words broke through without him meaning to speak. "I never wanted anyone to become so important to me that..." He swallowed painfully. "I think it would kill me to lose her. It terrifies me. But not so much that I'm not... grateful."

Swiftrunner said nothing for a few moments, the only sound the crackle of the fire on the hearth and the sleepy breathing of the babies. Then he said, "Remember when I was younger and stupider, and I fell into that pit with spikes at the bottom?"

"The wolf trap, yes. I pulled you out."

"And one of the spikes' tips broke off and stuck in my thigh? I just kept limping and the wound kept oozing instead of getting better."

"You bit me when I tried to look at it." Gatekeeper tilted his head to display the notch in his left ear. He knew where his alpha was going, but he was playing along because he needed the time.

"I said I was sorry. Anyway. Sundancer figured out what must have happened, waited till I was asleep, stuck her claws in, yanked the spike out and ran away before I knew what was happening. It was awful. So much blood and fluid came pouring out, I was horrified, I thought I was dying."

"She saved your life."

"She sure did. It took me a while to thank her, though." Swiftrunner smiled wryly. "First I had to stop feeling sorry for myself, then I had to find where she was hiding, and _then_ I had to convince her I wasn't going to kill her. But that's not the point. What I mean is-"

Hope had begun squirming and grumbling a few minutes ago, and now she finally raised her head and complained, "Potty!"

"All right, let's go." Gatekeeper shrugged off his cloak and stood up to take her to a small closet in the back that held a chamberpot. Swiftrunner chuckled and rolled his eyes in mock-impatience at the perfect timing of the young.

While Gatekeeper was helping Hope to put her bloomers back on, Sundancer knocked on the door. After her mate had opened it for her, she came bustling in with her arms full of pillows and blankets, a small basket dangling from one wrist.

"Sorry, my hands were full," she said. "Here we go! Plenty of extra bedding for tonight. I stole it from the infirmary's stores but Nightsong knows I have it, she'll ask for it back if they need it. I'm sure they won't, they have so many. Definitely not tonight. There won't even be any fighting for hours yet. And I brought food and milk."

The mention of milk reminded Gatekeeper suddenly of his other reason for coming directly to see Swiftrunner. "Alpha, I actually needed to ask you for another favor."

"Anything!" Sundancer said over her shoulder. Two of her sons had heard her voice and begun to fuss, and as soon as she had dropped her load on the floor, she bent over the bassinet to fuss with them.

Swiftrunner snorted with amusement. "Far be it from me to disappoint my mate. Anything it is, then."

"I have a... friend, the woman who lives across the road from me," Gatekeeper explained. He went to get a bottle of milk for Hope in order to avoid looking at Swiftrunner, having realized that it might anger him to find out that Gatekeeper had left Hope in the care of a relative stranger rather than tell his pack. Even if he had it to do over again, though, Gatekeeper would not have left Hope in the castle. She had been much better off in the quiet, affectionate home of the Farrier family than she would have been in the rough-and-tumble care of his pack, not to mention further away from the Chantry and its orphanage. Nevertheless, he had to tell Swiftrunner now, because the truth would come out and it was best to get it over with.

"She..." He faltered, but then inspiration struck. "She knew Hope from before the walking dead attacked. While we were gone this month, she took care of Hope for me, so that Hope could stay someplace familiar. I owe her a lot." This was true. Frieda had not been the least bit surprised when he showed up on her doorstep with Hope in his arms.

"And you want me to make sure she gets into the castle before it's full," Swiftrunner finished. "Sure, I'll go now."

"She's got a cow, too," Gatekeeper added, relief making him smile. Swiftrunner seemed to take that in stride, perhaps as just being another piece of the secret that he was already prepared to forgive. "It's giving milk. I was thinking-"

"Milk?" Sundancer perked up at once. "I need milk! My goat is drying up, and there's no way I can keep up with these hungry mouths on my own."

"Cows are really big," Swiftrunner said with a frown. "I'm not sure there's room left in the stables."

"She can stay in our pack barracks." Sundancer shrugged. "Cows are nice animals. There's room if everyone shoves over a bit. I want that milk, Swiftrunner."

Swiftrunner gave her a little bow. "As my lady commands. Let me get my coat. What's she look like, Gatekeeper?"

"Well, she's brown, and she's wearing a red halter – oh, right." Gatekeeper laughed at himself. He felt giddy and weak and... hopeful. "Uh, she's short and sort of round. Brown hair, very bright eyes, looks sort of like a partridge. Her name is Frieda and, of course, she's got a cow with her. Not many cows out there."

"Got it." Swiftrunner fastened the button of his uniform jacket, which, though very much the worse for wear, was still recognizably the jacket of a Redcliffe Auxiliaries officer. "Be back soon."

"Thank you," Gatekeeper said, and meant it.

Swiftrunner paused before walking out the door and reached out to grip Gatekeeper's shoulder. "I'm glad you're back," he said. Then he left at a brisk jog for the front gates.

"Come on, little one," Gatekeeper said to Hope after he had gone. "Let's build a blanket fort. Then we can put you to bed. Are you sleepy?"

She nodded, holding onto the milk bottle with both hands, and he started pushing chairs together and tying sheets over them to create a screened-off place where she might feel safe enough to sleep. His own eyes wanted to close. To keep himself awake, he asked Sundancer, who was still nursing, "Did Swiftrunner tell you about what's coming?"

She nodded. "Lots of nasty darkspawn!" She said this in a sing-song voice to the infant at her breast, and beeped his tiny nose. "Nasty nasty darkspawn! Daddy killed lots of them, yes he did! Such a fierce Daddy we have, yes we do!"

"Do you..." he hesitated, not wanting to frighten Hope, but she was concentrating hard on the complicated process of picking apart a chicken leg. "Do you think the castle is ready?"

"Oh yes." Sundancer nodded firmly. "After all, the Gray Wardens are here. They'll save us."

* * *

Nightsong awaited her first patient with hopeful anticipation. She wasn't alone; their new medical clinic was scrubbed and shiny, stacked with linens and bandages up to the ceiling, lined with shelves holding willowbark and other interesting herbal concoctions, and fully populated with excited female pack members. Not that the battle about to rage before Redcliffe Castle's gates wasn't deadly serious, of course, but after weeks of getting ready for this day, her packmates and she could hardly wait to start doing their jobs.

The newly installed swinging door was pushed open, and Mother Hannah appeared leading a young foot soldier who was clutching at his left forearm. A rivulet of blood had run between his fingers and stained his armor, but not quickly enough to threaten his life. Instantly, every head in the clinic turned to the young man and fastened upon the blood with thoroughly inappropriate joy.

"Here you are, ladies," Mother Hannah said. "Arrow wound, soft tissue damage only. He needs stitches and a bandage, and as soon as he's stabilized he can report back to his sergeant for a different assignment."

Nightsong knew that the exotic herb elfroot was not to be used unless needed to save a life, and the same went for their healers' limited endurance. This was their purpose: to take care of everyone who was either so lightly injured that they could be patched up and returned to duty, or so grievously wounded that they had been remanded to the clinic to be kept warm and safe until they stabilized or died. She glanced quickly at Sundancer, prepared to yield the privilege of tending their very first patient, but her friend merely shrugged helplessly from where she sat managing the difficult task of nursing two of her babies at once.

As soon as the alpha bitch indicated that she was not going to seize the right to take care of him herself, there was a collective brightening of eyes, intake of breath, and slight shift in weight as every other woman prepared to pounce on him themselves. Nightsong moved to head off the inevitable collision by coming to her feet and striding confidently over to take the injured man's elbow. "Thank you, Mother, I'll see to him myself."

The young man's eyes were a little wild and he cast a pleading look at Mother Hannah, clearly not happy about being left to their eager care. "Um, on second thought, it's really not so bad, I can just-"

"Nonsense, Ando." Mother Hannah made a shooing motion. "Go on, now, lie down so the ladies can patch you up."

"We will take _very_ good care of you," Nightsong reassured him, her voice deadly serious, and pulled him over to the closest cot, pressing him down into it. "There you go. Now hold still."

Mother Hannah bustled away, her own confidence in their abilities quite solid after having trained them to suture and made them practice on sides of mutton. As soon as she was gone, the other ladies got up and began to flutter around the clinic, picking up anything they thought might be wanted, while Nightsong gently removed Ando's bracer and rolled up his sleeve.

"Here! Put clove paste on it!" cried Clearwater, proffering one of the little tin pots. She herself had ground most of the cloves and now firmly believed that clove paste fixed everything.

"No, Cleary, no, she has to clean it first, don't you remember anything?" Ambereyes scolded as she plopped down a pail of hot water beside the cot, slopping most of it over Nightsong's feet in her haste to be the first person to suggest this very important task.

Ando's white-rimmed eyes traveled from one face to the next and he quavered, "Have... have you ever done this before?"

"'Course we have, loads of times," Ambereyes assured him loftily. "On sheep. It's the same thing."

Nightsong wetted a cloth provided to her and swabbed carefully at the bloody skin. It looked like a nice, clean, uncomplicated cut, no problem. She felt her back straighten a little more; she could do this. And it was important! She was helping! She wasn't just hiding in the rear of the den with the puppies while the males fought and died. Neither were her friends. They were _all_ helping. Because of her!

She rinsed the cloth and swept it more firmly over the wound, sweeping out any dirt that might have come in on the arrowhead that had wounded him, and the young soldier winced and let out a hiss of pain. Blossom gasped and threw her arms around him, enfolding his head in her prodigious bosom. "Be gentler, can't you see he's in pain? Poor Ando. It's going to be okay."

"There, there, Ando. It's going to be okay," repeated young Shimmertail, following her older friend's lead. She pressed herself to his other side, stroking his arm. Not to be outdone, the highly competitive Ambereyes draped herself over his legs, the only part of him not already occupied, and patted his knee comfortingly.

"Quit bothering him," Sundancer ordered from her side of the room. "You're being very rude, you're supposed to ask strangers before you touch them. Morrigan said so."

This was quite true. Worried, Nightsong glanced up from her work to see if Ando looked offended, but it was hard to tell, what with Blossom's breasts and Shimmertail's hair in the way.

"They're not bothering me, honest," Ando said. He sounded a little muffled but, Nightsong noted, a great deal happier than he had when he first came in. When she began suturing, Ando barely even noticed.

_I must be doing a great job_, she thought.

After the slightly dazed Ando had wandered away to report to his alpha, Mother Hannah returned with three more men with nearly identical injuries. Apparently the darkspawn had an arrow that could sometimes pierce the standard issue Redcliffe shield and leave that characteristic stab wound beneath. The ladies dealt with them in much the same way.

Then there were more men, and more, and worse wounds, ones they couldn't do anything about except to give them willow tea and a hug, and after four or five hours it wasn't fun anymore.

But it didn't stop. It went on, and it got worse, and all Nightsong could do was keep working.


	37. Explanations and Apologies

Hi guys:

All my fanfiction stories are officially on indefinite hiatus. My health still has not recovered from the severe illness I had last year, and I have to budget my energy extremely conservatively. I was faced with a choice: write fanfiction, or finish my novel. I chose the novel, because otherwise it was going to take me years to finish it, since I'd have to finish all the fanfic first.

I'm really, really sorry. I feel terrible for letting all my readers down. I do still intend to finish the stories someday, but I cannot in good conscience ask you to stick around hoping for more when I don't have any idea how long it will be. Please forgive me. I never wanted to be one of those writers who strings people along and then gives up, but... well, sh*t happened.

If you're curious about what I _am_ working on, you can read sample chapters here: /lazarus

(In case Fanfiction dot net breaks that URL, here's the sanitized version: wellspringcd dot com slash lazarus.)

Thank you so much for years of joy and support. I would never have even started writing without this amazing community.

-Melanie


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